Not Only In Dreams
by Goddess JacquesPierre
Summary: ...Harry said, 'It's only in dreams I'll even tolerate your prescence.'
1. Default Chapter

Not Only In Dreams  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Chapter One  
  
Harry Potter was reminiscing. He had just gotten back from the Halloween Feast and had snuggled into his four-poster with that warm, content feeling of well-being that one gets when one has eaten just enough excellent food to satisfy one's every craving. The meal lay heavy on his stomach, and he had briefly mused how he managed to retain his slender physique despite the heavy, fat-laden meals generally served at Hogwart's. The worry quickly passed as he chalked it up to intense Quidditch training and a young metabolism, and he curled up more comfortably into his pillow and sank back onto his memories. This particular burst of nostalgia had been triggered by the recollection of rescuing Hermione with Ron back in first year, and, having had an adventure-filled life, Harry felt he was entitled to the occasional bout of going back through his various encounters. He vaguely heard Seamus say something-- incomprehensible to him, but it must have been funny because a moment after, he heard Ron and Dean laugh while Neville made noises of incomprehension. Their voices quieted after Harry did not respond-- they must have assumed he was asleep-- but their conversation continued. Harry felt this was for the best; the soft murmur of familiar voices created a blanket of white noise that allowed him to slip even deeper into his fantasy world. He had just gotten to the part where he had been in detention with Hagrid, Hermione, Neville, and Malfoy when he slipped off into sleep, his level of extreme comfort contributing to the effect. He dreamed.  
  
-----  
  
"... Neville, you stay with me an' Hermione, Harry, you go with Fang an' this idiot. I'm sorry," Hagrid added in a whisper to Harry, "but he'll have a harder time frightening you, an' we've gotta get this done."  
  
So Harry set off into the heart of the forest with Malfoy and Fang. They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path become almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the unicorn had been thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.   
  
"Look--" he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy.  
  
Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.  
  
It was the unicorn, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves. Harry had taken one step towards it when a slithering sound made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered... Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Malfoy, and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.  
  
Malfoy screamed and locked his arms around Harry in terror. Harry dreamily felt that something was wrong, that the memory was incorrect, but his thoughts were soon obscured by a blinding pain that eclipsed any instinctive feelings of mismemory. He fell to his knees and was supported by Malfoy's arms around him.   
  
The pain passed after a few minutes. The cloaked figure, he noticed, was gone, but Malfoy was still standing with his arms around him. In fact, the first thing his eyes had seen when they refocused was Malfoy's eyes, peering into his own in-- was that concern he saw?  
  
"Are you okay?" asked Malfoy.  
  
Harry answered shakily. "Yeah, I think I am." He realised he felt grateful. "Thanks for catching me."  
  
"Mmmm..." The sound originated deep in Malfoy's throat and conveyed a distinct sense of approval. It was also unmistakably sexual in nature. Harry entertained the brief notion that an eleven-year-old Malfoy couldn't possibly have voiced any noise of pure innuendo, but then he noticed that it was a sixteen-year-old Malfoy who had neglected to move his arms from around a sixteen-year-old Harry-- the only change the blonde had made was to shift slightly so the warm pressure on Harry's lower back was only reassuring, instead of being the only thing holding Harry upright. Dizzily, Harry concluded that he must be dreaming. A tangled whirlwind of confused thoughts ran through his head, not the least of which was: "I've figured out how to lucid-dream at the worst possible time imaginable!'   
  
Harry soon discovered, however, that his conclusion had been entirely incorrect. As Malfoy's arms drew him closer, he felt himself leaning into the Slytherin comfortably. Clearly, he was not lucid dreaming.  
  
"I'm glad you're all right," Malfoy murmured, so close to Harry that his lips brushed Harry's ear. A thrill coursed through Harry's body, and the part of him that knew he was just dreaming longed to rebel, to run away, to affirm that he was neither gay nor attracted to Malfoy, thank you very much! The portion of his subconscious mind that had set up the dream, however, was apparently not taking suggestions. Instead, Harry found himself speculating about Malfoy's lips-- what it would be like to kiss them, what they would feel like on his bare skin...  
  
He heard a quiet moan and then a throaty chuckle. After a struggle to sort the information through his foggy brain, Harry determined that he had been the source of the former and Malfoy of the latter. He felt a hot feeling begin to pulse at groin height as Malfoy's lips skimmed his ear again. "You want me."  
  
The statement was correct in this dream; Harry barely recognised his voice when he agreed.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Mmmm." Malfoy made another suggestive noise, and Harry shuddered. It really didn't surprise him; though he had never been at all fond of the Slytherin, it was very easy to imagine Malfoy as seductive as he now appeared. As Harry stood, unable to move, Draco began to expertly maneuver Harry to the ground, gently pressing on the back of Harry's knee and catching him when he fell.  
  
The next thing Harry was aware of, he was on his back on his cloak in the leaves, shirtless. There was a breeze, and the cool are had moved over his chest so his nipples were peaked in the cold. Malfoy leaned over him and started toying with them, the tips of his fingers brushing back and forth. The sensations blurred in Harry's mind-- the only thing he felt was the warmth of Malfoy's body where it touched his, only heard the soft rustle of leaves, only saw the black behind his eyelids...  
  
-----  
  
Harry woke up with a start and an erection. He cursed quietly as the dream came back to him and made a beeline for the shower. Dreaming about Malfoy, indeed. He was certainly glad that was over.  
  
-----  
  
In a different part of the castle, Draco Malfoy woke up feeling satisfied. He'd just had a dream about a completely successful seduction, and though he was sure he had never experienced anything that wasn't a success, he still felt the inner glow of pride that went along with an achievement.  
  
Then the details started trickling back. The first of these was the location-- Malfoy couldn't imagine what he would ever be doing with a woman in the Forbidden Forest.  
  
After a few minutes, the pleasant feeling had completely subsided to be replaced by disgust. He had had a graphic dream about seducing Harry Potter? Either something was horribly wrong with his subconscious mind or some acquaintance had played a nasty trick on him. He couldn't think of who it could be, though. Goyle was a boor with the intelligence of the average nonenchanted pogo stick, the difference being that the pogo stick couldn't trip over its own feet based on sheer mathematics. Crabbe was better-- one of those idiot savant thingies, he was a brilliant cook with no interest in magic except where it could help him in his own particular area of interest. Malfoy couldn't see for the life of him why he attended Hogwart's, but suspected it had something to do with a quantity of not-so-subtle encouragement from his parents. One did not ask such questions in Slytherin. The only other boy in the dorm was Blaise Zabini, who could have both come up with the scheme and pulled it off, but Malfoy knew for a fact that such a thing would offend Blaise's aesthetic sensibilities. If Zabini had engineered a nightmare, it would have been far more symbolic in nature, rather than... this, which was just disturbing.  
  
Outside of his dorm, Slytherin girls were alternatively obsessed with physical appearance and the rumor mill. They were useful in a limited capacity, as a source of gossip or as potential trophy brides for those wizarding families with the proper credentials. None of them would ever dream of anything like that, however, pardon the expression.  
  
That left three houses full of potential magic users, and Malfoy eliminated Hufflepuff and most of Gryffindor right away. Hufflepuffs were a bunch of rejected losers that no one wanted to teach; the Sorting Hat had said so itself. Gryffindor... none of Harry's friends would ever think of a dream that featured their Golden Boy as a pouf, but if Harry were actually gay and lusting after him...   
  
That did not bear thinking on. No, he would address that possibility only after he had investigated Ravenclaw, who he had to admit to himself were an enigma to him. They were intelligent, as a whole, enough to avoid getting picked on by the Slytherins, so the Slytherins tended to ignore them except for a few notable exceptions-- for example, Looney Lovegood, who was so batty that she deserved what she got from the Slytherins, or the entire Quidditch team, which was nowhere near as good as Gryffindor but had to be watched nonetheless.  
  
He resolved to watch them.  
  
-----  
  
Harry was walking to Defense Against the Dark Arts with Ron. He was desperately tired but refused to admit it; he hadn't gotten back to sleep after dreaming... never mind what he had been dreaming. He shook his head to clear it. No, there was no way he'd been dreaming about Draco Malfoy like that.  
  
He settled in and tried to concentrate on the lesson; they'd finally got another good teacher and it looked like this one'd be able to stick around a while. Professor Tofty had decided to retire from grading O.W.Ls and had settled in to teach at Hogwart's.  
  
"Today," the lesson began, "We are going to learn Defense against spells that interfere with your dreams. The simplest of these is a hex that publicly animates your last dream-- not the most dangerous of spells, nor one you are likely to encounter, but the others are very tricky and this is an excellent starting point. Please divide up into partner pairs, and follow the instructions I have written on the chalkboard. The incantations are very simple--"  
  
But he was cut off at that point; Neville had cast the wrong incantation at his partner and missed. Harry felt an icy sensation in his chest, a sharp pain, and then a small image of the Forbidden Forest materialised on Professor Tofty's desk. Ron peered at it for a moment, then recoiled in shock. He glanced over at Harry, who was sliding under the table, beet-red, and trying to pretend he didn't exist.  
  
Silence descended over the classroom as person by person figured out what was happening in the little dream, in Harry's dream.  
  
Ron broke the silence. "You've got to be kidding me."  
  
Harry didn't say anything.  
  
Slowly, comprehension dawned on Ron's face. The class was soon filled with teenage murmurs regarding the contents of Harry's dream...  
  
"MALFOY?" Ron screeched.  
  
To Be Continued... 


	2. Another Dream

Not Only In Dreams  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Harry groaned. "Ron, it's a bloody dream. What the hell was I supposed to do? Sock him in the face?"  
  
Ron appeared to be harking back to the time in third year when Hermione had done just that. "You know, that's not a bad idea..." the redhead mused.  
  
Harry hissed, "You moron, it's a dream! Do I look like I'll be off shagging Malfoy every chance I get by choice?"  
  
Ron relented. "Yeah, I guess not." He paused for a moment. "Er, Harry, you're not queer, right? I mean, you still like girls?"  
  
Harry laughed bitterly. "You mean like Cho?"  
  
"Look, mate, she's not the only girl in the world. You got shafted with that one-- mental, I tell you-- any normal female will be more interested in snogging you than crying on your shoulder." Ron bit the top of his quill, thoughtfully. "There won't be any wet spots on your robe unless you get really lucky." He grinned.  
  
Hermione reached over and swatted him with "A Standard Book Of Spells, Grade Six" by Miranda Goshawk. "Ron!"  
  
Ron had the grace to look sheepish and go back to copying the instructions off the chalkboard.  
  
-----  
  
Throughout the lesson, Harry found that he simply could not master the charm. Thankfully, Professor Tofty was right there to dispel the dream, but every time he tried...  
  
"Rêver Reveali!" Ron said.  
  
A wave of emotion washed over Harry, and he couldn't place where it had come from or even what it was. It carried the weight of all the times that he'd felt any strong emotion-- the joy from when Sirius had told him he no longer had to live with the Dursleys, the longing in front of the Mirror of Erised during first year, the grief when Sirius had passed through the curtain the Department of Secrets at the end of last year, the terror of Dementors, and the love and sense of kinship he felt around the Weasleys, as well as the smaller emotions-- the amazement when he saw his first Chocolate Frog card (Dumbledore), the way he felt on his broom, the sense of camaraderie in the boy's dorm, the irritation at Percy when he'd yelled at Ron for being in the girl's bathroom, and everything else. He couldn't place it-- and then Professor Tofty had dispelled the image of the woods, and he was back in class with Ron and Hermione peering over him in concern.  
  
At the end of the class, Harry had not mastered the counterspell, and Professor Tofty kept him back after class to speak with him.  
  
"Are you all right, Mr. Potter?" the aging wizard asked when the rest of the class had departed.  
  
Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think I will be. Just a bit shaken, that's all." There was no way he was going to tell Professor Tofty about that time he'd brewed the Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and how he'd felt everything he'd felt then and in his life. For one thing, he didn't know the words.  
  
"All right, then, Mr. Potter, but you take care of yourself, d'you hear me?" Professor Tofty gave him a look reminiscent of Dumbledore.  
  
"All right."  
  
-----  
  
As Harry walked into the Great Hall after DADA, silence suddenly swept the Great Hall. Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy (don't ask me how he could be flanked by three people at once; if you have to, you may look up the rules for flanking in the Dungeons and Dragons Player's Handbook; practically speaking imagine Crabbe to his right, Goyle to his left, and Pansy standing in a little bit in front of them between Goyle and Draco), sauntered up to Harry and sneered. "So, Potter, can't master your dreams? Let's have a look."  
  
Before Harry could even marvel at the speed of gossip in Hogwart's, there was an image of the Forbidden Forest in the middle of his mashed potatoes. The Slytherins peered closer to get a look.  
  
After a moment, Goyle screamed and fainted, Crabbe took a deliberate step back and began to study the ceiling (which was blue with clouds in, and Crabbe thought he could almost see a lemon meringue pie in the cloud over Dumbledore's chair), and Draco pulled a jar out of his school bag and neatly caught the dream in it. He pointed at the lid with his wand and an incantation Harry supposed was some sort of sealing spell.  
  
"Up for a duel, Potter? Then maybe you can have nightmares about me instead of--" he grimaced-- "that."  
  
"You're on," said Harry instantly. Ever since Malfoy had cast the spell, Harry had felt in the mood to hex the shit out of something, and he could think of no one-- except maybe Snape-- who would be a better target than Draco Malfoy. "Who's your second?"  
  
"Oh, there won't be any seconds tonight, Potter," Malfoy drawled, smirking. "Just you and I settling a, shall we say, personal score." He turned on his heel, his cloak flaring and his book bag neatly smacking Harry on the nose as he strode off.  
  
"Mmm," said Ginny, who was sitting nearby, "if he weren't such a jerk, there would actually be hotness potential right there."  
  
Ron looked scandalised. "Ginny! He's a Malfoy!"  
  
Ginny snuggled up to her boyfriend and kissed him on the cheek. "I know. That's why I'm dating Dean."  
  
-----  
  
Over at the Slytherin table, Pansy said, "You know, Draco, as far as sex dreams go, that one wasn't bad. If it hadn't been Potter, which is just icky, it would be almost marketable."  
  
Draco glared at his pumpkin juice. "Shut up, Pansy."  
  
-----  
  
Around eleven, Harry slipped out of his dorm and headed over to the Arithmancy room, leaving his half-finished Potions essay in the common room. He fervently hoped it would finish itself; he had class tomorrow and he was stuck. Even Hermione had only managed to fill four feet of parchment with the analysis of the roles of vanilla and pomegranate extract in the potion they would be brewing the following day, and he had managed only one and a half of the assigned three feet. He had a nasty suspicion that the potion was one of the ones that Snape had come up with and wanted tested, it was called the Epans Potion and looked dreadfully difficult. Hermione had been having kittens when it wasn't even referred to in her copy of "The Encyclopedia of Potions and Their Ingredients", a work Harry was sure even Snape didn't have.  
  
Malfoy was sitting on a desk, waiting for him. Harry made to draw his wand, but Malfoy waved it away. "Don't bother, Potter, I'm really not in the mood. I just want to talk."  
  
Harry couldn't think of a time when any Slytherin he knew had "just wanted to talk", but after three hours doing things like trying to find vanilla in "1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi" before realising that it was mundane enough that Dobby the House-Elf was as likely a source of reliable information as anything, he was quite willing to forego the effort that an actual duel would require.  
  
Malfoy pulled a jar out of his backpack and opened it on the table. A miniature image of the Forbidden Forest popped out. After a moment, he poked it with his wand, and it froze.  
  
Harry groaned. "Look, Malfoy, if you just want to make fun of me, I'm just as happy hexing you."  
  
"I'm not, Potter. Here--" Malfoy pulled a large, heavy book out of his page and flicked it open. "Read this."  
  
Harry skimmed the page. It was an incantation for discovering information about a trapped dream, which Harry presumed was what Malfoy had done with the jar at lunch.  
  
"What's your point, Malfoy?"  
  
"Try it."  
  
Harry reread the incantation, then cast the spell and waited.  
  
"Are you that thick, Potter? You ask it questions."  
  
Harry allowed the insult to pass. "It's my dream. What do I need to know about it?"  
  
"I'll show you, then." Malfoy pulled out his own wand and cast the charm. "Who dreamed this?"  
  
Silver letters rose out of the dream, spelling out a reply. "Draco Malfoy."  
  
"So you were dreaming about our detention in first year, too. So what?"  
  
"Look more closely, Potter."  
  
Harry peered between the branches. When he saw himself sprawled on the ground on his cloak, he realised Malfoy had had the same dream he had. "Was this dream tampered with? Did someone charm us as some sort of a sick joke?" Harry asked.  
  
"I don't know," said Malfoy.  
  
The dream did. "No. This dream was completely natural."  
  
"Why didn't I think of asking it?" Malfoy muttered under his breath.  
  
Harry ignored him. "Looks like we've got problems."  
  
Malfoy nodded. "Yeah. I guess I'd better do some more research on the subject-- it would be nice if you would put in the effort and try, though I suspect I'll be the one actually figuring it out. If you could get your Mudblood friend to work on it--"  
  
"Don't call her that!" Harry snapped. "If we're working together, you can at least be civil."  
  
"Sorry, Potter. It's just habit now, I've gotten over that sort of thing."  
  
"Oh? When did that happen?" Harry asked.  
  
"I met Voldemort."  
  
"Thought you'd be a sycophantic follower like your father."  
  
Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "You've got to be kidding. I would never follow anyone like him. If I'm going to give someone my respect, I want them to be respectable-- someone sixty years old with red eyes simply does not cut it as far as I'm concerned. If my father has no class, that is entirely his decision. I refuse to follow a weirdo like him."  
  
"So, Voldy wasn't fashionable enough for your aristocratic Malfoyish standards?"  
  
"Something like that, though I resent you calling them Malfoyish. Anyway, I got to thinking, and I figured that it was pretty stupid to discriminate based on people's parentage. I conducted a series of experiments and found it was much more satisfying to insult people based on their own failures."  
  
"Only you, Malfoy." Harry shook his head. "What's wrong with calling them 'Malfoyish'?"  
  
"It's such an ugly name. Mal-, which means bad, and -foy, which is simply inelegant. I'm not actually evil, you know, I just have high standards. Draco, which means 'dragon', fits me much more admirably. Don't you think?"  
  
"Hmm... you may not be evil, but you are arrogant, vain, smug--"  
  
"A few of my better qualities, Potter, in my opinion," Malfoy cut in smoothly. "Now, please, say it with me: Draco."  
  
Harry grimaced. "I know what your name is."  
  
"Yes, but I want to hear you use it. Everyone except Crabbe calls me Malfoy, and I can't really complain as most of them spend their free time cozying up to Voldemort. I don't get to hear it that often, so indulge me."  
  
"I feel that you are indulged far too much for your own good, Draco," Harry told him.  
  
Draco smiled broadly. "Thank-you, Potter."  
  
Harry firmly quashed the small voice in the back of his head that was informing him that when Draco smiled-- or even smirked-- he was quite attractive. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?"  
  
"We can compare notes in Potions." Draco's smile changed into a smirk. "I hope you have something to tell me."  
  
Harry found himself smiling as he left the room.   
  
-----  
  
When he got back to Gryffindor, he scribbled a few sloppy sentences onto his parchment and trudged upstairs. He felt as though his legs were going to drop off if he used them much longer, and his eyelids felt like the Fat Lady (indignant when he had woken her) had Switched his eyelashes with fifty-pound weights. He tumbled into bed and was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Almost instantly, he dreamed.  
  
-----  
  
"I know prefects can't dock points, Weasel King, " sneered Malfoy; Crabbe and Goyle snickered. "But members of the Inquisitorial Squad can do whatever they like... So, Granger, I'll have five points from you for being rude about our new headmistress... Macmillan, five for contradicting me... Five because I don't like you, Potter, and a detention tonight, which I shall supervise."  
  
The dream faded and came back into focus. Harry saw grey stone walls with chains on-- it looked like some long-forgotten dungeon room, Filch's office, or someone really perverse using the Room of Requirement. He was chained to the wall, and as he watched, Draco came into his field of view, looking delectable in tight black leather and carrying a whip. "Did you know, Potter, that the Ministry has just passed Educational Decree Number Sixty-nine?"  
  
"No," Harry heard himself saying, "what does that one say?"  
  
"It says, Potter, that for the next two hours, I can do whatever I want to or with you... in other words, you are completely under my control..."   
  
Harry felt a shiver course along his body as Draco said the word "Potter". It had a certain ring to it... as if Draco meant so much more that he wasn't saying. The thrill went on throughout the sentence.  
  
When Draco was inches from Harry's nose, he moved his wand in the familiar 'swish and flick' pattern. Harry's clothes flew off and landed in a neatly folded pile on the other side of the room.  
  
-----  
  
When Harry woke up, there was a wet spot on his sheet just above the place it had tangled around his upper thigh. Harry pulled the pillow back over his head and went back to sleep, hoping for a lack of dreams.  
  
-----  
  
The next morning at breakfast, Harry nudged Hermione while Ron, Dean, and Neville were preoccupied with a joke Seamus was telling. "Can you finish your breakfast and come up to the library with me?"  
  
She nodded, willing to help her friend.  
  
When Ron noticed them leaving and asked why they were in such a rush, Harry told him, "I'm helping her with an S.P.E.W thing."  
  
Ron decided not to go with them.  
  
-----  
  
"So," Hermione said after she had settled into her favourite table, "What do you want to want to talk about that Ron couldn't hear about?"  
  
To Be Continued... 


	3. What does it all mean?

Not Only In Dreams  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Chapter Three  
  
Disclaimer: (ah, knew I was forgetting something) Nothing's mine except most of the ideas and the wording. Imagine the results if a rabid H/D shipper got his or her hands on the Harry Potter franchise...  
  
In the movies: "Tom, move your knee a bit closer to Dan's waist! Yes! That's the ticket! Now lean over... brilliant..."  
  
In the shops: Anatomically correct, posable action figures...  
  
In the books: [see below]  
  
Author's Note: Kudos to everyone who spots the blatant-- I can't even call it a reference. Fine, then, the blatant Terry Pratchett rip-off. I only borrowed a bit; I was stuck for names. If the next chapter is a long time in coming, blame it on the huge pile of research I'm doing for the fic. I have about seven thousand dream interpretation books I'm going to have to wade through to keep my Draco and my Hermione in character, because as the author (read: mad, obsessed fangirl who got her hands on a computer and discovered fanfiction), I have to either know more than them about whatever they know about or make it up, and some things you can't make up. Blargh. I'm going to have to do a works consulted page now, too, see what you've made me do?  
  
-----  
  
Harry sighed. "You know that dream I had the other night? The one you guys saw in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
"Well... Malfoy had the same dream as me. Exactly the same dream."  
  
Hermione fell off her chair. "Exactly?"  
  
Harry nodded. "We were even dreaming at the same time."  
  
"So... why are you telling me this?"  
  
"You're the only awesome has-every-book-in-the-library-memorised friend I have."  
  
Hermione blushed. "I do not!" It was supposed to be indignant, but Harry caught the flush of pleasure under her words.  
  
"Anyway... do you know if there's any significance to this dreaming-the-same-thing-at-the-same-time thing?"  
  
Hermione shook her head. "Nope, no idea."  
  
It was Harry's turn to fall abruptly out of his chair. "You don't know? You've never heard of anything like this, ever?"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I may seem to be a fount of knowledge, but I don't know everything!"  
  
"Oh." Harry stood up awkwardly. "Will you help me research this, then?"  
  
"All right..."  
  
Harry grinned. "Thanks, Hermione!" He wandered off to find a book.  
  
-----  
  
One completely fruitless search of the library later, Harry found himself in Potions with two Slytherins irritated with him. One of them, Professor Severus Snape, was merely being unpleasant to Harry on principle, but the blonde Harry had been forced to work with was actually disgruntled.  
  
"What do you mean, Hermione didn't know anything?" Draco hissed over the bubbling cauldron.  
  
"She said she didn't! But she's going to help me research it."  
  
Draco brandished his knife. "I was up practically all last night in the library! I couldn't find anything!"  
  
Harry flinched before Draco set to viciously cutting his Big Ugly Beetle (named by Leonard da Quirm, a brilliant wizard with absolutely no creative naming genius whatsoever). "Practically all last night?"  
  
"Well, I fell asleep for a couple of hours... I had this dream...." Draco did not seem to want to discuss it.  
  
"Let me guess," said Harry dryly. "Sixty-Ninth Educational Decree from the Ministry of Magic?"  
  
"You, too? Again?"  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"I'm writing my father," said Draco.  
  
Harry blanched.  
  
"I'm not telling him what's going on! I'm just going to ask him to owl me any books on magical dreams we have in the Manor library."   
  
"You think there are going to be any books in your library that aren't here?"  
  
"More than likely, Potter, ours is the largest magical library in Europe. Furthermore, we have a much less restricted selection of books." Draco arched a blonde eyebrow. "Did you really expect to find any information about erotic dreams in the Hogwart's library?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "You were the one up all night looking."  
  
"You'd better watch it, Potter; I'm tempted to hex you into oblivion."  
  
"Better watch out if you try-- remember Ginny's Bat-Bogey Hex?"  
  
The two boys spent the rest of the lesson bickering quietly, but it lacked the edge it had had before their "duel" the previous evening.  
  
-----  
  
Dear Father,   
  
The Hogwart's library has, predictably, failed to rise to the level of challenge I require to find myself intellectually stimulated. As such, could you please send me any books we have dealing with magical dreams?  
  
Your son,  
  
Draco  
  
-----  
  
After a hard Quidditch practice, Harry felt like he should go back to the library and double-check Draco's work-- make sure there wasn't anything Draco had overlooked, but he felt his eyelids threatening to close even as he was rinsing off in the shower afterwards. Instead, he wearily climbed the staircase leading to his dorm and collapsed on his four-poster, having technically fallen asleep halfway across the room. The moment his head hit the pillow, he dreamed.  
  
-----  
  
Harry saw two more towering, hooded dementors, standing guard on either side. A wave of cold sickness threatened to engulf him again; he leaned back into the lumpy seat and closed his eyes until they had passed the gates. The carriage picked up speed on the long, sloping driveway up to the castle; Hermione was leaning out of the tiny window, watching the many towers and turrets draw nearer. At last, the carriage swayed to a halt, and Hermione and Ron got out.  
  
As Harry stepped down, a drawling, delighted voice sounded in his ear. "You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?"  
  
Malfoy elbowed past Hermione to block Harry's way up the stone steps to the castle, his face gleeful and his pale eyes glinting.  
  
The entire student body of the school surged around them as Harry tried to stare Draco down. Soon, they were left alone, each gazing into the eyes of the other.  
  
A mask seemed to drop from Draco's face; Harry fancied he heard the tinkle of broken glass on the concrete walkway beneath their feet.  
  
"I'd catch you if I could," Draco said earnestly. "I wouldn't let you fall."  
  
Harry nodded; he found himself unable to disagree with the apparition in front of him. Draco really was beautiful. Silver eyes and gold hair-- one could tell that he came from the most snobbish wizarding family imaginable.  
  
Harry didn't care at the moment.  
  
Then the nausea hit again. Harry heard a scream echoing between his ears-- it was a woman, which made no sense to him; the rest of the school had disappeared-- it was his name she was screaming, which made him feel uncomfortable...  
  
He felt everything go black.  
  
Seven and four-seventeenths of a minute later, Harry was jerked back into color. It was green. Disoriented, Harry tried to figure out his whereabouts-- a grassy field? Under the sea?  
  
It hit him after a while. This must be Slytherin dorm. Harry paused for a moment, getting his bearings. He seemed to be tucked into what was presumably Malfoy's bed.  
  
"Are you okay?" It was Draco asking. Harry's head reeled.  
  
"I hate them," said Harry suddenly. "They're evil."  
  
"I don't care for them myself," Draco said gently. "Chocolate?"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
They sat in silence for a moment.  
  
Harry, having realised he was dreaming, seized partial control of the dream while it was looking the other way. "Why are you being so nice? Aren't you a jerk?"  
  
"Yes. I am not a very nice person, Harry." Harry noted a flicker of disbelief in Draco's eyes. Was it Draco's conscious mind affecting the dream? Why was it working this time around? "I am, however, a not very nice person who is also in love with you."  
  
More silence. They both seemed to be struggling with that in their waking selves, not in whatever bit of their heads came up with these dreams.  
  
Eventually, Draco slid beneath the covers with Harry. "Enough," he said simply. "Sleep."  
  
-----  
  
The next morning, a strange owl into Draco's coffee dropped a heavy parcel. It splashed onto his face, and he scowled as the owl stole his bacon.  
  
He rescued the package and liberated it from its wrapping. In it, he found two books-- "Magical Dreaming" and "The Complete Guide to Dream Interpretation"-- and a note written in his father's script. 'There are more being sent directly to your dorm room', it read. Draco smirked. That was prompt, he thought, as is fitting for a Malfoy.  
  
-----  
  
Later on that day, right after supper, Draco made a point of bumping into Harry, slipping "The Complete Guide to Dream Interpretation" into his bag.  
  
As he turned to go, Harry grabbed his shoulder and tugged him into an adjacent classroom. "That dream-- last night-- the Dementors..."  
  
Draco nodded. "Yes, Potter. Me, too. I'm beginning to see--"  
  
"--a pattern," Harry interrupted. "I'm not stupid; I'm just checking. What were you thinking?"  
  
"When, Potter? I think a lot. It's a side effect of being brilliant."  
  
"When you were dreaming."  
  
Draco blanched, an effect that was extremely interesting on a complexion as pale as his. "I'm not sure, and even if I were, I don't think I would tell you. At least, not yet." He swept off down the corridor in a swirl of robes.  
  
Harry watched him go, stunned and confused. He fingered the spine of the book and wandered off to Gryffindor Tower to read.  
  
-----  
  
Harry curled up in his four-poster and began to thumb through "The Complete Guide to Dream Interpretation". Apparently he was either illicitly lusting after Draco or felt a deep desire to express himself creatively, and the dream where Draco had tied him up signified that he was either feeling out of control of his life, was feeling incestuous, or was into BDSM. There was a complete lack of anything that referenced possible reasons that he and Draco were having simultaneous, identical dreams. However, he now knew what his dreams about flying on a broomstick in front of Cho meant-- the Firebolt was a phallic symbol that indicated he wanted an adventure that was not too far removed from the comforts of home, and that he was frustrated that he was losing Cho, who had clarity of thought. Well, that last bit made sense; he'd definitely lost Cho to Diggory, and she was a Ravenclaw. As far as wanting adventure went, though? He'd had plenty. Harry would be completely content if Voldemort left him, along with the rest of the world, alone for the remainder of either of their lives. Unfortunately, this seemed to be highly unlikely.  
  
Ron walked into the dorm and noticed the book Harry was reading. "What are you looking at that for? I thought you hated Divination?"  
  
"I was just putting it down," Harry said. "You're right, it is a load of bull."  
  
Pigwidgeon flew out of Ron's pocket, fluttering madly around the posts of Harry's bed. She landed next to Harry's pillow, and he was suddenly inspired. "Hey, Ron, can I use Pig?"  
  
Ron grunted, presumably to denote acquiescence.  
  
Harry tugged a bit of parchment out of his bag, and wrote down his interpretation of the dreams, and furtively instructed the miniature owl to deliver his message to Draco. Ron, who seemed to be already asleep, remained oblivious.  
  
-----  
  
Draco was immersed in his own book when Harry's parchment landed right on the page he was in the middle of, so he picked it up curiously and skimmed it. He wrote back: "Well, Potter, what's your take? Repressed creativity or lust?"  
  
-----  
  
Half an hour later, Pigwidgeon returned. Harry read the note attached to her leg, and wrote back: "I haven't seen any evidence of either."  
  
-----  
  
Draco wrote: "Couldn't be creativity, Potter, I doubt you have the capacity."  
  
-----  
  
Harry wrote: "And you do?"  
  
-----  
  
Draco wrote: "Of course I do; I'm a Malfoy. We always are, ah, creative."  
  
-----  
  
Harry wrote: "Sounds like you're suffering both repressed lust and repressed creativity."  
  
-----  
  
Draco wrote: "Do you realise we're passing notes by owl?"  
  
-----  
  
Harry stared at the parchment. "You're kidding," he wrote.   
  
-----  
  
Draco wrote irritably: "What makes you think I'm kidding? We're passing notes like... those two giggly girls in your house, whose names I can't remember. The twin and the one with a name that sounds like a flavour of lotion. Anyway, enough is enough. I'll speak with you tomorrow-- it's Saturday, so we both have Quidditch practice, but we're both free around seven. Meet me at the lake."  
  
-----  
  
Harry wrote: "How the hell do you know when I have Quidditch practice?"  
  
-----  
  
Draco wrote: "I have my ways. Now quit bothering me."  
  
-----  
  
Harry stroked Pigwidgeon, gave her an owl treat, and went down to the Common Room to see if Hermione was still awake. Not surprisingly, she was the last person in the Common Room, entrenched in a mound of books that towered over her head, and only by moving some of them was Harry able to see her face.  
  
"Did you come up with anything, Hermione?"  
  
She shook her head. "Not unless had to do with the trees in the Forbidden Forest being phallic symbols representing your latent, repressed homosexuality."  
  
Harry nodded. "That's about what I got, too."  
  
Hermione shook her head. "I couldn't find anything about why Malfoy had the dream, too. It sounds like some sort of enchantment."  
  
Harry shook his head. "I don't know. I did this spell Draco found in a book, and the dream-- well, his-- said that it was 'completely natural'."  
  
"Draco? Since when are you calling him Draco?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "He asked me to. I couldn't see why not, as we've called a truce. He also said that he's not interesting in supporting Voldemort and that the whole insulting-non-purebloods thing was habit, not malice."  
  
Hermione looked skeptical. "You believe him?"  
  
"Well... he came up with a reason that sounded very much like him." Harry smiled bitterly. "Apparently, Voldemort hasn't got enough fashion sense to merit Malfoy's respect. I'm not so sure about the last bit, but he did apologise when I called him on the 'm' word."  
  
Hermione looked mildly surprised. "Well, that's a change. Anyway, Harry, I wouldn't worry about the dream. It was probably just a coincidence, you two having the same dream-- maybe a side effect of being so antagonistic to each other."  
  
"Hermione, we've been dreaming together for the past three nights."  
  
"Why didn't you say so? That would have really helped-- not that there was anything in the library specifically about your dream, but... if you've been having repeated sex dreams about Malfoy, Harry, then maybe they mean exactly what it seems like they mean: that you're attracted to him for whatever reason. In any event, I really don't want to think about it, so perhaps you'd better sleep on it. It's getting late."  
  
Harry went off to bed, pensive.  
  
-----  
  
Many thanks to mojo-jojo241, coriel, and erin who reviewed, and let it be widely known but especially to chisox727 that Harry is going to have quite a few dreams in the story to come (hence the title, note the word 'dream' in it) and the little '-----' notation means a scene change or a time lapse. All reviews make me happy, and long ones (i.e., more than two sentences) make me jump up and down and go 'squee'. 


	4. Shakespeare, Fairies, and the Imperius C...

Not Only In Dreams  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Chapter Four  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated and/or non-associated things that I don't own do not belong to me. Perhaps it was redundant, but it certainly beats my English substitute, whose comment "Partners is definitely sufficient enough" led me to lose all respect I may have had for her. Anyone who uses the phrase "sufficient enough" should be shot (not necessarily lethal except in the case of the repeat offender. As far as I am concerned, the breed of people who perpetually mix up 'lose' and 'loose' belong in the same category). Moving along, they belong to their respective owners, who are not me. My writing, sarcasm, witty remarks, not-so-witty remarks, comments, ideas, and other creative property, however, do belong to me, and anyone caught filching them without permission will be sentenced to the same fate as those select few for whom loosing their lives is not sufficient enough.  
  
Author's Note: Egads! I have just noticed that the esteemed and glorious website fanfiction.net has been nonchalantly deleting the triple-asterisk that I generally use to mark a scene change! No wonder people have been confused! In any event, now that the situation has been clearly identified as such, I can make every effort to eradicate the error. If other scene breaks are confusing or have been erroneously eliminated, please notify me (the small periwinkle-coloured button with the 'review' prompt on it would be favourite) and I shall clear up the matter. The first three chapters will be reposted shortly with the change, and so I shall desist from my unfortunately pompous rambling.  
  
Ten points to whoever catches the line I couldn't resist borrowing from Aidan Lynch's iUnthinkable Thoughts/i, which is a simply marvellous fic and I reccomend it to anyone who is capable of reading.  
  
-----  
  
Harry dreamed.  
  
-----  
  
It was fourth year, slightly more than twelve weeks into first term, and Harry had just made it to lunch after a spectacularly unspectacular Divination lesson. He had been publicly informed by Professor that she had omitted several of the grislier bits of his death, and the Slytherin element of the class had then proceeded to speculate which fate precisely would befall Harry and which cause of death would be noted on the official documents. Apparently, his star chart clearly stated that his death would come about at least fourteen different times within the next four days, though Harry was unsure as to where it indicated that 'smothered by marshmallow fluff' would be among them, as Ron had bitterly suggested. Professor Trelawney had instantly confirmed it, leading to Harry's increased belief that she was a complete fraud ninety-seven percent of the time.   
  
It was all he needed that, the moment he sat down, he was confronted with a sneer. "Ah, Potter, there you are. Late as usual," drawled Malfoy, who had been obviously waiting for him. "The fourth champion. May I have a word with you, or are you too busy crying over your dead mum?"  
  
Harry pushed back his chair. It crashed loudly into the chair behind him, badly startling the Hufflepuff sitting in it. He had already been in a foul mood before the arrival of his nemesis, and Malfoy's appearance had been the last thing needed to snap the 'nice Gryffindor' exterior and unleash the temper within. "Whatever you want, make it quick!" Harry snapped.  
  
"Now, now, Potter, there's no need to get all hot and bothered." Draco flashed a smirk at the surrounding tables, instigating giggles and blushing from the female contingent of the Great Hall. "I just wanted to pull you away from your beloved Weasley and Granger for a moment. Care to come with me?"  
  
Harry looked at Malfoy speculatively. Crabbe and Goyle were conspicuously absent, and wringing Malfoy's neck seemed like an excellent idea to relieve some of the stress he was feeling. "All right," he said grudgingly.  
  
Malfoy, still smirking, beckoned with his wand. "Follow me."  
  
Draco seemed to float to the door leading to the Great Hall while Harry stormed after him. Miraculously, no teachers saw fit to follow or reprimand them based on their open hostility. After walking for what seemed like both a very long time and nowhere near long enough, Draco pulled Harry into a deserted classroom. It had many desks, but they were all covered in dust and pushed up against the wall. When Harry extended a hand and wiped a streak clean, the wood was riddled with pockmarks and inkstained with what looked like generations of graffiti. The chalkboard was covered in a thick layer of greasy slime, and neither boy cared to think about where that may have originated.  
  
"There is something I've been wanting to try." Draco's voice could only be described as silky. Harry wondered, briefly and irrelevantly, if he had been taking lessons from Snape. "Moody showed it to us, and said you could throw the curse. However, boy wonder, I think I have a far more accurate appraisal of your ability. Let's see how well you can throw the Imperius Curse when it is cast by an experienced and powerful wizard."  
  
Harry opened his mouth to retort, something along the lines of 'well, that wouldn't be you, then, would it?', but he was cut off abruptly by Malfoy's spell.  
  
"Imperio!"  
  
Just as before, Harry felt his mind clouding over with a wonderful feeling. It was a slightly dizzy sensation tinged with a hint of arousal. Harry almost smiled, waiting for the voice in the back of his head to start fighting any command Malfoy might give.  
  
Through the haze of the curse, Draco seemed to be standing closer to Harry than he remembered, and his command seemed husky and somewhat gentler than his wont. "On your knees."  
  
Based on Moody's conditioning, Harry was surprised when the voice in the back of his head failed to kick in. He had sunk to the floor before even thinking about it.  
  
In some part of his mind, he was frightened by the level of complete control the blonde seemed to have over him, but most of it was content to follow the orders given.  
  
The feeling of being divided intensified as Draco began undoing the front of his robes. Part of Harry's mind was rebelling, but the other half was suffused in a dreamy, languid feeling that was enjoying the situation very much. The latter half seemed to be in control.  
  
Draco had hit skin, but Harry was still convinced that he could throw the curse. Even as Draco twisted his hands in Harry's hair to draw Harry's head towards his exposed waist, Harry was unruffled. In some corner of his mind, he was still waiting for the small voice that helped him throw the curse to come into force.  
  
"Show me, Potter, what the mouth of the amazing Boy Who lived can do."  
  
Harry was ready to bite the length of exposed, sensitive flesh centimeters in front of his nose. Then, the voice kicked in. It was giving him helpful instructions.  
  
Several minutes later, Draco was half panting and half smirking. "Well, Mr. Potter. It seems that your title of 'boy wonder' is not entirely undeserved." He walked to the door in a flourish of robe. "I'll see you around." He lifted the curse, opened the door, and sauntered out, leaving Harry on his knees, touching his swollen lips in a state of shock.  
  
-----  
  
When Harry woke, he could still taste Draco on his lips and tongue-- a bit salty, bitter, and very much Draco, with a hint of what Harry guessed was cinnamon. He walked out of his dorm in a daze and found Hermione immersed in a thick book about N.E.W.T level arithmancy.  
  
She glanced up when Harry walked in. "Merlin, Harry, go put some decent clothes on! Then come back and tell me about the dream you had."  
  
Harry stumbled off back to the common room and put on the first thing his hands hit-- one of Ron's maroon jumpers that had made it into his trunk, forest green trousers, his Gryffindor scarf, the socks Dobby had given him fourth year, and a cloak. By the time he had managed to get back to the common room, his wits were beginning to return. Unfortunately, the operative word was 'beginning'.  
  
Hermione winced as Harry tripped over the last step and landed hard, sprawled in a heap next to the table she had left her bag on. She decided not to comment on his fashion sense as she helped him up. "It's okay, Harry," she told him soothingly. "I'll listen."  
  
"He cast an Unforgivable. He cast the Imperius Curse." Harry's tone was flat.  
  
"There's no way Malfoy casts a stronger curse than Moody did," Hermione said.  
  
"I couldn't throw it, Hermione. I didn't want to. Even when he--" Harry stopped abruptly. "Have you got a throat lozenge?"  
  
"Oh," said Hermione meaningfully as she fished in her bag. "So, your dream self wanted to give Malfoy head?"  
  
Harry nodded mutely.  
  
"You're not going to like this, Harry, but I really do think you're attracted to him on some level."  
  
Harry just stared.  
  
Hermione sighed. "Look, Harry, why don't you go back to bed and try to get some restful, dreamless sleep. I'll keep reading and let you know if I find anything."  
  
-----  
  
Harry went back off to bed and took a nap. Thankfully, he did not dream, and so his slumber was completely devoid of Draco.  
  
-----  
  
If one were to ask Harry what had happened in Quidditch practice after his nap, he wouldn't have been able to answer you. The day went by in a blur until he met Draco by the lake at seven.  
  
-----  
  
Harry donned his invisibility cloak at six-thirty and made it to the lake twenty minutes later. Draco was already there, on his back staring at the sky. It was almost dark, but Draco's blonde hair caught what little light remained, giving him an angelic appearance. There was an array of glass bottles next to Draco-- seven contained what Harry recognised as dreams, one was empty, and one was glowing faintly. Despite the peaceful image that the blonde made, Harry could sense that Draco was shaken.  
  
Ever the Gryffindor, Harry walked over to Draco, sat down next to him, and slid off the Invisibility cloak. "What's wrong?"  
  
Draco yelped and sat up. After a moment, he spoke. "Oh. It's only you. Sorry."  
  
Harry suddenly realised that people suddenly appearing from under Invisibility cloaks was not a common sight. "No, I should be sorry. What's wrong?"  
  
"Oh, nothing, Potter. I just had a dream about the boy I've considered my greatest rival for the past five years giving me the best orgasm I had ever imagined possible." He arched an eyebrow. "Plus, I found this." He held up the glowing bottle.  
  
It contained what looked like an iridescent human with gauzy butterfly wings, each wing slightly larger than its entire body. It was carrying a bow and had a quiver of arrows on its back. The tiny figure was scuffing the bottom of the jar with a foot the size of the head of a match.  
  
Harry looked at it blankly. "What is it?"  
  
Draco sighed. "Don't you know anything, Potter?"  
  
"Look, you try being raised by opressive Muggles who hate even the idea of magic for most of your life and see how much you know about the wizarding world!" Harry spat.  
  
"I found it lurking around my bedroom. It's an Eros's Helper."  
  
"A what?"  
  
"An Eros's Helper! You know, Aphrodite's son? Practically Cupid!"  
  
"What, the insipid little boy that is featured on Valentine's Day cards?"  
  
"Take two points for evidence of a decent vocabulary," Draco said. "But you're wrong. The truth is never as pretty as Muggles-- or even sometimes the Ministry of Magic-- would like to believe. Shakespeare said it best." He stopped for a moment, then began to recite:  
  
"She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes   
  
In shape no bigger than an agate stone...   
  
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep--   
  
Her wagon spokes made of long spinner's legs;   
  
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;   
  
Her traces, of the smallest spider's web;   
  
Her collars, of moonshine's watery beams;   
  
Her whip of cricket's bone; the lash, of film...   
  
And in this state she gallops night by night,   
  
Through lover's brains, and then they dream of love...   
  
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream...   
  
This is that very Mab   
  
That plaits the manes of horses in the night...   
  
True, I talk of dreams."  
  
He stopped. "Romeo and Juliet, Act I, scene iv. Mercutio's Mab speech."  
  
Harry was staring. "Wow. You have it memorised?"  
  
"No, Potter, that's only part of it. Knowing Shakespeare, however, is part of being a cultured individual. If whatever relationship we have here is to progress, I shall insist that you at least read that, the most well-known of his many plays."  
  
"So... what does the glowy thing mean?"  
  
"It means, Potter, that we have something big on our hands. These are very rare now; Muggles have too often mistaken them for undesirable insects and swatted them into near extinction. They only come out for cases of the purest love now, and only those cases that need help. The theory behind this is that if they're not out and about helping people love, they can increase their numbers. That, actually, is one of the reasons that the modern world is such a sad place-- there are not enough of these to go around." He sighed. "This is probably one of the reasons Voldemort rose to power in the first place..."  
  
Harry was staring again. "Purest love? Does that mean us?"  
  
"Well, it certainly doesn't refer to you and Cho or me and Pansy. Have you ever had sex dreams about her?"  
  
"I don't believe you. There's no way." Harry stood up. "You've got to be kidding. I'm not in love with you."  
  
"I'm not in love with you, either, Potter." But as Draco spoke, Harry had already pulled the Invisibility cloak over his head and disappeared.  
  
Draco sighed. "We have a long way to go."  
  
-----  
  
Thanks to all reviewers; you really do brighten my day.  
  
chisox727-- I'm glad you like my Draco. One of my goals for this story is to not turn Draco into a nice person-- something that is far too easy to do and happens in many Harry/Draco fics. He's supposed retain some of his irritating qualities from the book-- I feel that fics that do not deviate much from the books make a stronger argument for canon Harry/Draco. As for having Draco for yourself, why don't you go off and seduce Tom Felton? That way, you're not stuck with the tedious problems, for example, getting a fictional character to give you a physical hug. It's quite difficult; I've tried it and found it is much simpler to watch the fictional character in question hug other fictional characters instead. Of course, I could be recommending that out of purely selfish motives-- but one never knows.  
  
Slytherin822-- my story is cool? Shucks, I was going for 'hot and moist'-- oh, well, cool works just as well, if not better.  
  
Libazeth-- clever penname! Thanks so much, darling, I'm glad you've enjoyed it. 


	5. Harry's Weakness

Not Only In Dreams  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Chapter Five  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated and/or non-associated things that I don't own do not belong to me. Perhaps it was redundant, but it certainly beats my English substitute, whose comment "Partners is definitely sufficient enough" led me to lose all respect I may have had for her. Anyone who uses the phrase "sufficient enough" should be shot (not necessarily lethal except in the case of the repeat offender. As far as I am concerned, the breed of people who perpetually mix up 'lose' and 'loose' belong in the same category). Moving along, they belong to their respective owners, who are not me. My writing, sarcasm, witty remarks, not-so-witty remarks, comments, ideas, and other creative property, however, do belong to me, and anyone caught filching them without permission will be sentenced to the same fate as those select few for whom loosing their lives is not sufficient enough. (So I didn't feel like coming up with something new. Bite me.)  
  
-----  
  
Back in Slytherin, Draco drew the curtains around his bed and cast an Imperturbable Charm on the hangings. Then, he let the tiny figure out of its glass bottle and glared at it. "Well, that went well, didn't it?"  
  
The fairy landed lightly on the bed. "It's not my fault. There's all sorts of potential for a relationship there."  
  
Draco snorted. "We've had a relationship for the past five years! We've been enemies!"  
  
"Draco, why do you hate him?"  
  
There was silence for several minutes.  
  
"I don't hate him, do I?" Draco said out loud. "I just though I did, because I was miffed he rejected my friendship..."  
  
"Exactly. And the only reason he rejected your friendship was that you didn't know any better than to insult one Ronald Weasley. The past five years have only been your frustration and his retaliation."  
  
Draco sighed. "I suppose that makes me a bit of a cad."  
  
"It's understandable."  
  
There was another silence while Draco considered that. After a bit, he said, "Even supposing all the tension between us is only because of a misunderstanding, I don't like him."  
  
The fairy smirked. "Don't you? You said it yourself-- there's tension between you. It hurt that much that he didn't want you. It hurt you so deeply you haven't been able to let it go."  
  
"It only hurt because no one had ever done it before. I'm a Malfoy; we always get what we want."  
  
"Then why didn't you let the enmity go when you let all the other Malfoy-related hatred go? Besides, he's gorgeous. Just look at him-- green eyes, soft lips, great body... you've seen him fly."  
  
"He's still Harry Potter."  
  
"Do you know what we do, Draco Malfoy? Do you know what the power of an Eros's Helper is? All we can do is recognise love that should be and manipulate dreams to try and make it happen. I'm sure you knew that much. You don't know how we do it. What we do is we remove all the barriers to the relationship in the dream-- psychological stuff that shouldn't have happened-- and let the two souls interact normally. You're the one who pounced Harry in the Forbidden Forest. I didn't do that. You're the one who gave him detention so you could..."  
  
Draco held up his hand. "Enough. I've got enough to think about. I'll sleep on it."  
  
"Can I go, then?"  
  
"What if I want to find you again?"  
  
"My name's Tina. If you want to find me, call me, and as long as you and Harry have not yet reached peace, I will be there." She broke the Imperturbable Charm around Draco's bed and flew off. He gazed moodily at her until she had disappeared.  
  
Harry walked through the portrait hole in such a bad mood that people in the common room moved away from him slightly as he walked across the room. He tapped Hermione on the shoulder. "What do you know about Eros's Helpers?" he asked.  
  
"Why?" she replied, only half listening. "You haven't got one tampering with your dreams..." She looked up. "You HAVE! Oh, that explains everything! I can't believe I hadn't thought of it earlier!"  
  
People were beginning to look at them strangely. Harry said, "Look, Hermione, want to take a walk, and then you can tell me what you've figured out?"  
  
"Yes, it's not exactly good material for common room discussion. Let's go."  
  
They walked out of the common room and ended up in the empty Charms classroom.  
  
"So... why are my dreams suddenly so easy to interpret?" asked Harry.  
  
"You've been... sort of lucid dreaming and sort of not. This is going to sound a bit cheesy, but what has been happening is this: you and Malfoy have been put in situations you both remember where emotions have run high. Due to all the fighting you two have done, you must have loads of memories like that. The only difference is, it's only your soul in the situation. Your dream self is basically you doing what you would have done if you hadn't been conditioned to hate Malfoy. Your waking self can watch these dreams. The idea is that if two people haven't been getting along who should be, they'll see how things could be and find that it's nicer than fighting."  
  
"So... that little glowy thing is trying to brainwash me into liking Malfoy?"  
  
"It's not trying to brainwash you, Harry. It's trying to help you."  
  
"How is liking Malfoy going to help me?"  
  
"Having the 'little glowy thing', as you put it, around means that you and Malfoy have a strong natural attraction to each other. What the 'little glowy thing' is trying to do is get you to see something that is right in front of your nose and act on it!"  
  
Harry shook his head. "I'll think about it, Hermione, but Draco Malfoy showing me Tinker Bell in a jar is not going to convince me I should start liking him. I've never been attracted to men, I don't see why I should start now."  
  
Hermione shrugged. "Believe what you'd like, Harry. I think it makes a lot of sense. Come on, let's get back to Gryffindor before we're caught."  
  
-----  
  
Harry sank into bed. It had not been a particularly good day, but he didn't want to go to sleep, not if Malfoy was waiting for him behind his closed eyelids.  
  
Even so, as he tried to stay awake, sleep crept up on him and claimed him. He dreamed.  
  
-----  
  
It was second year, and he and Ron were in Slytherin common room as Crabbe and Goyle. Harry noticed the Polyjuice Potion beginning to wear off, and he prodded Ron hard. "Go! It's wearing off!"  
  
Ron sprang up and ran out of the door. "Medicine for my stomach," he grunted, and without further ado, he sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room, hurled himself at the stone wall, and dashed out.  
  
Harry and Draco watched him go.  
  
"Well, well, well, Harry Potter. I didn't know you had it in you. That must have been a Polyjuice Potion... very tricky, and you're always horrible in Potions. I suppose Granger must have helped you a great deal... but now you're here, and that's what you wanted, isn't it?"  
  
Harry stared at Draco. He really was pretty... silver-blonde hair, long eyelashes that didn't show from far away because of their colour...  
  
Draco stood up. "Went to all that trouble to get into Slytherin, and don't have the nerve to say anything, Potter? Never mind, come with me." He offered his hand to Harry, and Harry took it. They were the same height, and, Harry guessed, had very similar body structure under their robes, based on how Draco looked when he flew. It was amazing, like they were almost negative images of each other....  
  
Draco led him into his dorm room. "I don't know what you've done with Crabbe and Goyle, but if it'll last a while, we've got the entire House to ourselves."  
  
"Mmmm... Sleeping Draught in two chocolate cakes. We left them in a broom closet."  
  
Draco laughed. "That'll keep them for at least a couple more hours." The laughter was musical and pleasant-- with a start, Harry realised that Draco was smiling, his face lit and radiant even in the dim light of the dungeon. It was the first time he'd ever seen Draco really smiling-- not smirking or sneering.  
  
Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket. "Lumos," he said simply. Draco seemed to glow, the sheen of his hair threatening to blind innocent passerby.  
  
"Admiring me, Potter?"  
  
"Mmmm. Yeah. You're beautiful."  
  
"You're full of surprises today, aren't you, Potter? You've just displayed some amount of good taste."  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy."  
  
"You mean Draco."  
  
"Fine, then. Shut up, Draco."  
  
"Why should I?"  
  
"Because I want to do this." Harry kissed him.  
  
Some time later, they came up for air.  
  
"I'd call that a good reason," mused Draco. He started fiddling with Harry's clothes.  
  
"Draco, what are you doing?"  
  
"I'm trying to figure out how you tied this. Honestly, it's worse than my five-year-old step-cousin's sneaker knots."  
  
Harry blushed. "Wizards wear sneakers?"  
  
"This one'd trip and break bones if he didn't. I don't know where he gets the energy."  
  
Ten minutes and several 'sneaker knots' later, Harry wasn't wearing anything except a calculating look. "Mmmm... Draco... I don't know about this."  
  
"Embarrassed?"  
  
Harry stretched languidly, fingering Draco's cloak. "No... it's just that I don't like the feel of wool on my bare skin."  
  
"Ooh, Potter, I like that one! We'll make a hedonist of you yet."  
  
"Besides, it's a bit nippy in the dungeons."  
  
Draco pouted. "That would be an argument for putting the cloak on, not taking it off."  
  
Harry smiled. "Not the way I plan in doing it."  
  
In about ninety seconds (Draco's knots were neater than Harry's), Draco was naked.  
  
"Well, Potter, that was fast."  
  
"Mmmm. Now, you're probably cold too. So, come here." Harry turned back the covers of Draco's bed, snuggled into it, and motioned for Draco to join him.  
  
As skin met skin under silk sheets ("My god, Draco, did you bring these from home?"  
  
Draco smirked. "Of course I did. I couldn't bear to sleep on anything else"), the temperature rose quite nicely.  
  
"That was not a bad idea, Potter," said Draco.  
  
Harry smiled. "I'm glad you think so." He brushed his lips over Draco's.  
  
Draco promptly pressed closer to Harry, tangling their extremities together. "I have a better idea."  
  
"Have you?"  
  
"Let me show you."  
  
Afterwards, Harry stretched languidly. "Mmmm... that was nice."  
  
"It was," agreed Draco sleepily.  
  
"If you fall asleep like that, I'm not going to be able to move." There was a note of warning in Harry's voice.  
  
"I'm not falling asleep, but I have no intention of letting you go anywhere."  
  
"Crabbe and Goyle won't stay asleep forever."  
  
"If they come in, let's hex them."  
  
Harry felt like there was something wrong with that idea, but he certainly couldn't come up with what it may have been. "Okay."  
  
After about half an hour, Draco spoke. "So... up for another go?"  
  
"You're insatiable, you know that."  
  
Draco was not about to be distracted. "I know I am. So, how about it?"  
  
Harry grinned. "All right... but this time, I'm on top."  
  
"Sounds fine to me."  
  
-----  
  
Harry woke up. Sun was coming through the window at an angle that told Harry it was eleven o'clock in the morning. Then, the dream he had had the night before hit him. Urgh. They had been acting all... mushy. He resolved not to sleep again.   
  
However, one thing was clear from the dream. He would have to figure out how to tell Ron that he was gay.  
  
-----  
  
Draco woke in his bed in the dungeons, feeling quite good. He had just had the most amazing dream... if that was what sex with Potter would be like in reality, he definitely wanted it. It didn't matter if he actually cared for Potter, if the sex was that good, it was definitely worth winning the Gryffindor over for.  
  
He pulled a piece of parchment out of his book bag and wrote a very specific request. He folded it into an envelope shape, slipped some gold into it, and tied it to his owl's leg. "Off you go, quick like a bunny," whispered Draco, and then he felt silly for having said it. He NEVER said cutesy things like that! The owl regarded him as if she were uncertain as to what he wanted. "Well, you heard me! Move! I want that delivered within an hour!" There. That felt more like the self he knew and loved-but who wouldn't love a Malfoy? The owl flew off with a squawk. Draco smirked.  
  
-----  
  
That evening at dinner, Draco carefully positioned himself so he could see Harry. Just as he had requested, a pure white owl he didn't recognise swooped low over the Gryffindor table, bearing a box about the size of a softball and dropped it on Harry's lap. Harry picked it up and examined it-- it was beautifully wrapped in shimmering silver paper with a green ribbon around it. Cautiously, he untied the ribbon and took off the paper, careful not to damage either. Draco smiled in delighted surprise as Harry tucked both away into a pocket.   
  
As Harry lifted the lid off the box, Draco stared intently. Harry's eyes widened, and Draco could somehow hear the soft gasp across the crowded room as he looked at the contents. It was a perfect model of a Snitch in dark chocolate-- almost the best available, Draco knew, and the best within a day's flight by owl. He watched as Harry broke off the tip of one of the wings and put it in his mouth. It was if the rest of the school had ceased to exist, and he and Harry were the only ones there.  
  
The moment the chocolate touched his tongue, Harry's eyes fluttered shut and his head tipped back slightly. A soft moan escaped his lips.  
  
Draco observed this from across the room, ecstatic. That had gone far better than he had anticipated-- who would have guessed that the Boy Who Lived had a weakness for dark chocolate?  
  
Harry swallowed. As he opened his eyes, they met Draco's across the room. Silver coolly met astonished green.  
  
Harry mouthed, "You?"  
  
Draco nodded slightly.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Draco just smirked.  
  
Harry wonderingly put the lid back on the box and returned to the conversation at the Gryffindor table. It had gone all quiet around him.  
  
"What was that, Harry?" asked Ron, prodding him in the arm insistently.  
  
"What was what?"  
  
"That whole thing about the chocolate you just got, you dolt! That was really weird, like you were in a trance or something!"  
  
An expression of panic flickered across Harry's face for a split second. Ron didn't catch it, but Draco, who was still watching Harry, did. "It was nothing, Ron. Just the best thing I've ever tasted."  
  
"Wonder who sent it to you?"  
  
Behind Ron, Hermione sent Harry a knowing look. Rather too quickly, Harry said, "I don't know. No idea at all."  
  
Ron accepted this. "Bet it was Snuffles! He sent you the Firebolt without a card!"  
  
Harry and Hermione exchanged looks over Ron's head.  
  
Hermione said, "Ron, why would Snuffles send Harry chocolate?"  
  
Ron seemed to be bemused for a moment. "I dunno, um, is it some special day today? Like maybe your parent's wedding anniversary?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "I don't think so, Ron, who in their right minds would want to get married in November? Besides, in the picture I have of their wedding, it was sunny."  
  
A thought seemed to hit Ron. "Harry... you're not sleeping with him, are you?"  
  
Harry was flabbergasted. "What?"  
  
"Well... it's obvious he's fond of you, and..."  
  
Hermione looked both devilish and thoughtful. "Well, Harry, now that he's not painfully thin anymore, he is quite nice-looking..."  
  
"Hermione, he's old enough to be my father! He was my father's best friend!"  
  
"Who knows? You could be into older men..."  
  
"Maybe if he were twenty years younger, Hermione, but--"  
  
Ron was watching this exchange, looking horrified. "You ARE queer!" he exclaimed, pointing at Harry. "I can't believe you'd do that to me! Ugh! It was bad enough when Bill came out..."  
  
"Bill's gay?" asked Hermione, looking oddly disappointed.  
  
"Yeah, that Fleur girl was so upset... not for long, though, she hit it off with my other brother, Charlie... but still... that's so weird! You're my best friend, Harry! Does this mean you're going to start hitting on me?"  
  
Harry looked shocked. "Merlin! What made you think that? You're practically my brother, Ron, honestly!"  
  
Ron didn't look convinced. "Well... if that's how you feel..."  
  
He suddenly looked at the box. "Wait... was it a bloke who sent you that?"  
  
Harry looked uncomfortable. He started fidgeting in his seat. "I told you, I don't know who it was," he said dully.  
  
Ron looked at him, not sure whether to believe it or not. "Well... I hope it's not a girl." He surveyed the Great Hall. "Then again, I don't see anyone sobbing and running to the loos to have a cry... so..."  
  
Harry deliberately turned his attention to dinner. "Let's not talk about it anymore, shall we?"  
  
Draco, from his vantage point at the Slytherin table, struggled to keep from laughing. That was certainly interesting...  
  
He pulled out a scrap of parchment and furtively scribbled something on it. In the press of the post-dinner crowd, he slipped it into Harry's back pocket.  
  
Harry, feeling a hand on his ass, jumped and caught Draco's eye as the Slytherin smirked and disappeared into the crowd.  
  
The note said: "Meet me tomorrow at eleven PM, outside the Potions dungeon." It smelled like cinnamon and Draco.  
  
-----  
  
Well? Well? Did you like it? This one is flowing a lot more easily than my other story... though I meant for Ron to be completely freaked out and horrible, I just couldn't do it to poor Harry... also, I couldn't work in a sly reference about Bill's sexuality if I let Ron be horrified. So, to keep Ron tolerably in character, he did the whole intolerant-then-got-over-it bit when Bill came out, so Harry isn't so much of a shock.  
  
In any event, thank-yous!  
  
zina-- Actually, I am one of the lucky ones. Very few people hate me in real life to my knowledge, mostly because I choose not to spend time with people who would be the sort to hate me. The only person I can think of is an individual called Tim, and that's just his personality (he wears a trench coat and dispenses death threats more often than vending machines dispense soda). If I am sarcastic, it is one of the reasons people love me. I am, oddly enough, the best beloved of both my teachers and classmates for asking questions carefully designed to disrupt lessons. Either that, or I just have a magnetic sexuality that draws people towards me. But that's probably just me putting on airs. Anyway, thanks very much for the lovely review; it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  
  
chisox727-- Actually, I don't consider writing work-- I derive sexual pleasure from coming up with sarcasm and Draco's biting remarks. Kidding there-- glad you enjoyed it, and also glad that you have morals (several of my friends have lost theirs-- perhaps they could borrow yours?). I must say that Draco in the books or in fanfiction is much more appealing than Tom Felton, though it was during the first movie that it hit me-- of course Harry and Draco are sleeping together! Thanks so much for the lovely review. I'm glad that someone is following and enjoying the madness.  
  
JWGrey-- wow, you used the 'shift' key in your penname-- these are few and far between. OK, it's not that bad, but still. That, however, is just me being a bit obsessive (names are proper nouns and as such should be capitalised!) And you said 'please'! How wonderful! I hope this satisfies your urge for 'more' and also for 'quickly', which wasn't exactly specified but was implied. Just FYI, things that make me write more are as follows: new Harry Potter books, new Harry Potter movies (guess what triggered this fic), reviews, and chocolate. 


	6. The Slytherin Morning Ritual

Not Only In Dreams  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Chapter Six: The Slytherin Morning Ritual  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated and/or non-associated things that I don't own do not belong to me. Perhaps it was redundant, but it certainly beats my English substitute, whose comment "Partners is definitely sufficient enough" led me to lose all respect I may have had for her. Anyone who uses the phrase "sufficient enough" should be shot (not necessarily lethal except in the case of the repeat offender. As far as I am concerned, the breed of people who perpetually mix up 'lose' and 'loose' belong in the same category). Moving along, they belong to their respective owners, who are not I. My writing, sarcasm, witty remarks, not-so-witty remarks, comments, ideas, and other creative property, however, do belong to me, and anyone caught filching them without permission will be sentenced to the same fate as those select few for whom loosing their lives is not sufficient enough. (So I didn't feel like coming up with something new. Bite me.)  
  
Author's note: Draco smells like cinnamon-- which represents money, power and lust, each of which have a strong connection to Draco. The reason I specified that the note smells like 'cinnamon and Draco' was that Harry is beginning to put the cinnamon scent and Draco together in his mind. Scent is a bit factor in how one person is attracted to another (pheromones and all that), and when Person A is romantically involved with Person B, they tend to notice and recognise each other's scent. If Person B suddenly smells different, Person A will freak out and try to figure out why.  
  
There are a lot of different factors that go into a person's scent that I've noticed-- what brand of shampoo, conditioner, laundry detergent, deodorant, how their clothes are dried, etc. There is also the personal scent of the person in question. I have arbitrarily decided that these factors all come out to be cinnamon in Draco's case, Merlin knows how, and something else I noticed was that cinnamon plus sweat smells like sex... odd, that one.  
  
-----  
  
Harry slumped on his four-poster. What was Malfoy thinking? Why the chocolate? Not that it wasn't excellent chocolate, mind, but... Harry didn't know what to think. It was all happening so fast-- a week ago, he wouldn't have thought twice about hexing Malfoy so badly he wouldn't be able to walk for the following three days, but now he was actually considering... well, doing OTHER things to Malfoy that would render the blond unable to walk for the following three days. Furthermore, he was having realistic dreams to that effect that were supposed to be the result of the fairy Draco had caught in a bottle essentially removing his hatred for Draco and locking them in a room together!  
  
It was like a scenario out of the novel Harry had stumbled upon when he was cleaning the Dursley's bathroom when he was ten. He had picked it up, curious and hoping to give his chapped hands a chance to heal. It had scarred his mind. The prose had been flowery, watery, and redundant, the plot had been frivolous where it existed at all, the characters had been dull, stereotypical, and one-dimensional, and there had been far too much sex included for any ten-year-old to be within fifteen feet of it.  
  
Now his life resembled it. He certainly hoped, if his life were a book, that the writer would be at least decently competent, but he didn't have his hopes up. However, he wasn't going to be a nice, docile, one-dimensional character for the author to manipulate shamelessly. That, and the sex dreams of Draco were getting out of hand.  
  
Tonight, he was prepared. He had gone down to the kitchens earlier that day and had obtained several highly-caffeinated beverages for the night-- coffee and Mountain Dew (Dobby had bobbled eagerly when Harry had inquired, saying "It is a muggle beverage, but it is helping Winky's Butterbeer addiction muchly, Harry Potter, sir!").   
  
What's more, he would have plenty of time to reflect on Dra-- Malfoy's gift. Odd that the boy he had been fighting with almost as long as he had known he was a wizard would buy such an expensive, tasteful, and oddly appropriate gift for him... If Voldemort started sending him roses, Harry mused, he was going to kill something... perhaps Hagrid's next project for them, it was bound to be both illegal and lethal...  
  
At that point, Ron, Dean, Neville, and Seamus walked in, arguing loudly.  
  
"I don't want him sleeping in here!" Seamus was saying loudly.  
  
"Come on, mate, he's not going to jump you or anything!" Ron protested. "I've got a gay brother, you know, and he hasn't done anything to me!"  
  
Harry realised with a start that they were talking about him.  
  
"Well, that's different, isn't it! You're related!" Seamus spat. "He's lived with you all his life, he knows better than to be attracted to you!"  
  
Dean stepped between Seamus and Ron, facing the former. "Seamus, that was below the belt!"  
  
"Well, it's not like he's ever had a proper girlfriend... he even took Padma Patil to the ball, and didn't think enough of her to dance with her! He's probably queer, too!"  
  
Harry sank beneath his covers, trying to pretend he didn't exist.  
  
Ron had gone red to the tips of his ears. "I like women, thank you very much, even if I'm not much of a dancer!"  
  
Seamus sneered. "Oh? I'd like to see you get a girlfriend, then. You couldn't even get Hermione Granger before some guy from Durmstrang got her!"  
  
"That was more than just 'some guy'; that was Viktor Krum!"  
  
"He may be good at Quidditch, but he's not particularly attractive!"  
  
"Oh?" said Ron. "Were you interested in him?"  
  
Seamus went red, crossed the room in a huff, and closed his curtains so violently that half the curtain rings broke so that he had to reappear for a moment to fix them. They could hear a spell being cast, and then there was silence.  
  
"Sorry about that, Harry," said Neville. "I don't know why he's like that... the same thing happened last year, with the whole Dumbledore-against-the-Ministry fiasco."  
  
"You shouldn't have to put up with him," said Ron. "I may not be completely comfortable with it, but at least I'm not bigoted and nasty about it."  
  
Dean just blushed. "I don't want to talk about it," he said. "Harry is what he is, and there's nothing he can do about it. There'll be enough discussion about it tomorrow; I'm sure he doesn't want to hear us arguing tonight."  
  
Harry smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Dean, Ron, Neville. I appreciate it."  
  
"No problem."  
  
-----  
  
Three liters of Mountain Dew, four cups of coffee, and several visits to the lavatory later, it was morning. Harry was still awake, albeit tired, and quite satisfied with the lack of sexual thoughts he had entertained regarding his delicate blonde nemesis.  
  
Harry shook his head violently. Dra-- Malfoy was neither 'his' nor delicate. Wherever the protective urges he was feeling for the Slytherin had come from, Harry resolved, they could return there immediately. When the mental image of himself as Mrs. Weasley shooing away protective urges (which looked like small fluffy pink bunnies) popped up in his head, he decided it was all due to lack of sleep and promptly ignored the whole matter.  
  
He got out of bed, dressed in a daze, and only tripped twice on the way to the Great Hall for breakfast. He started reviving a little bit halfway through an English muffin and a glass of orange juice. It was at that point that the post arrived. There was the standard stuff-- Daily Prophets for those students that wished to keep up with current events, care packages from home, letters, and, for Harry, a long thin box that looked like it might be a wand wrapped in red paper with a gold ribbon. The entire hall hushed and stared while Harry opened the gift-- he had been the main topic of conversation across the room based on the rumors that had started the previous night. The conversation started up again rather more loudly, however, when Harry lifted the lid of the box, displaying a finely crafted dark chocolate rose with a stem that was apparently made of some kind of sweet that Harry couldn't place despite several visits to Honeyduke's over the years.  
  
While the rest of the school speculated about who would have sent the Boy Who Just Came Out a flower, Harry shot a glance at Draco, who contrived unsuccessfully to look innocent.  
  
Harry put the lid back on the box and slid the box into his bag, unsure of what to do with the gift. He stood loudly and walked out of the Hall, leaving most of his breakfast uneaten. Soon thereafter, Hermione followed him.  
  
-----  
  
Draco had woken that morning distinctly disappointed. There had been no dreams that night.  
  
"Tina!" he hissed into the near-quiet of the early-morning dorm (it would have been silent if Goyle didn't snore at a decibel level that had to be illegal). "Has something happened?"  
  
The fairy appeared quickly. "What is it?"  
  
"I didn't dream last night! Are you all right?" His tone grew noticeably more urgent. "Is Harry all right?"  
  
"We're fine. Harry didn't sleep last night, so you couldn't meet him in your dreams, that's all. Do you need anything else?"  
  
Numbly, Draco shook his head. Tina flew off as Draco lost himself in his thoughts. Why did Harry choose not to sleep? Was Tina correct when she told him that Harry was all right?  
  
Too soon, the rest of his dorm was awake, because Blaise, the morning bird of the Slytherin sixth-year boys, was bouncing about in his daily burst of uncharacteristic early-morning high spirits and saying perky, un-Slytherin-like things in a loud voice.  
  
Half the time, Draco thought he did it to be annoying. The other half of the time, he was convinced that Blaise actually enjoyed waking his housemates-- a scary proposition to be sure. He sat up to contribute his part of their morning ritual.  
  
"Blaise, if you don't shut up, I am going to hex you until you are indistinguishable from a Blast-Ended Skrewt." He said it every morning, Merlin knew why, as Blaise never shut up and Draco never hexed him too badly. It probably had to do with the fact that he liked hearing himself talk, not that he would ever admit that to anyone.  
  
As always, Blaise skipped over and ruffled Draco's hair. Draco growled at him and snatched his wand off his bedside table to brandish it at the offending party. Blaise adopted a mock-frightened demeanor and pretended to cower behind Goyle's bed. It ended up, as it did every morning, in a fierce pillow fight involving the entire room and resulting in a horrible mess.  
  
Breathless from the exertion and almost smiling, Draco mused, 'Who said Slytherins can't have fun?' He then went about his daily routine.  
  
-----  
  
During Arithmancy that morning, Hermione covertly poked Malfoy, who was sitting in front of her, between the shoulder blades with the tip of her quill. He glanced behind him irritably.  
  
"What?" he hissed, irritated his lesson was being interrupted.  
  
"Can we talk after class? It's about Harry."  
  
Draco nodded curtly and went back to listening to Professor Vector.  
  
-----  
  
After class, Hermione grabbed Draco by the sleeve and yanked him into a deserted classroom.  
  
"What are you trying to do to Harry?" she asked. It could have been read as inflammatory, but her tone was completely neutral.  
  
Draco decided to try for honesty. "I don't know what I feel for him, so I'm trying to get him to a point where we can figure it out."  
  
"You caught the Eros's Helper?"  
  
Draco nodded. "And I know what it means, Granger; and despite appearances I am not as conceited or as stupid as I may at times seem."  
  
"Are you fighting it?"  
  
"In the wizarding world, there are times when you know something can be changed and you try to change it. There are also times that you know something cannot be changed and you decide not to harm yourself by essentially flailing yourself against a brick wall until you are completely helpless." He arched an eyebrow. "While Harry seems to be taking the latter course of action, I know there is nothing I can do about the attraction I have for him and am not going to waste my energy trying. I'm not even sure I would change it if I could."  
  
Hermione nodded. "At least one of you two has sense, then. I just wanted to make sure you weren't just sending him gifts to manipulate him--"  
  
"Never miss a trick, do you?"  
  
"--before I told you that I'd like to help you if I can."  
  
Draco stopped dead. "What did you say?"  
  
"I said, I'd like to help you if I can. Harry is my friend, and this is going to cause him pain if we don't bring this to some resolution. He's, well, a bit of an idiot sometimes, and will need at least a nudge in the right direction. If no one stops him, he'll destroy himself before letting himself be the person he was meant to be."  
  
Draco nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, Granger. I wasn't expecting it, but your help could prove to be most... helpful."  
  
She smiled nervously. "I hope so. By the way... you probably didn't dream last night. Harry didn't sleep; I think he's trying to avoid dreaming. However--" she smirked, causing Draco to jump again-- "We have History of Magic this afternoon, and I've never known him to stay awake through a class yet, even when he's had a full night's worth of sleep."  
  
"My, my, Miss Granger, you've got a devious side. I would never have guessed."  
  
Hermione smiled again. "People are surprising, Draco. Call me Hermione."  
  
Before he could say anything, she was gone.  
  
He watched her leave, and then spoke aloud in the empty room. "Nice exit. Almost as good as one of mine."  
  
-----  
  
Harry swung into his desk in the History of Magic classroom after lunch, half asleep. He had Quidditch practice after class, and he was already bone-tired. Despite the chilly temperature outside, it was cozy and warm in the classroom, and the dull drone of Professor Binn's voice was almost soothing as he described the political intrigue behind the bloody German Goblin Rebellion in 1472.  
  
Harry struggled to stay awake, but he'd never manage to in this class. Besides, there was no way that Draco was asleep at two o'clock in the afternoon. He would be fine. His head drooped onto the desk, and he fell asleep. He dreamed.  
  
-----  
  
"I missed you last night, Harry. Where were you?" Draco asked. They were in a white room. Harry couldn't see any windows or doors, just solid white walls.  
  
Harry just stared.  
  
Draco crossed the room. "I was worried about you." He took a step and placed his hands on Harry's shoulders. "Were you avoiding me?"  
  
Harry found himself breathless. Draco was so close... Harry could see each strand in the lock of hair that was falling into Draco's eyes. He seemed vulnerable-- there was no trace of a sneer on his lips, no hint of malice in his silver eyes. Harry tried to shake it off, to ignore the fact that there was one very attractive blonde standing in front of him. Despite his best efforts, however, Harry found himself... well, attracted to Draco.  
  
"I'm sorry," he found himself saying. "I'm scared of it."  
  
Draco looked startled. "Scared of what?"  
  
"Of..." Harry gestured blankly. "Of this. Of you. Of everything."  
  
Suddenly understanding, Draco nodded. "Of this?" He brushed his lips against Harry's gently and then more insistently, pulling the latter in closer.  
  
Moments later, Harry broke away. "Of that. Of the way it makes me feel." Inside his head, Harry was screaming. This felt like Veritaserum. Why was he spilling his innermost feelings, the ones even he sometimes didn't know about, to a boy he only knew because they argued on a regular basis?  
  
Harry broke out of his thoughts to feel Draco stroking his hair. "Don't worry. You're not more frightened than I am."  
  
Harry stared. "You're frightened?"  
  
"Of course I am, Potter. I'm a Malfoy. Malfoys are always in control of themselves and often of the people around them. Of course I'm a bit... jarred by feelings that I have no power over."  
  
"You don't show it."  
  
Draco smiled. "Thank you. I try."  
  
The room changed. It now had a cozy lit fireplace and was lushly furnished.  
  
Harry jumped back. "What did you do?"  
  
"Room of Requirement, Potter. I didn't need the white any longer." Draco reached out and took Harry's hand, leading him over to the large bed that dominated the middle of the room. "White for new beginnings, color for things already begun. Besides, it was getting a little creepy."  
  
"Hmmm, color for things already begun... is that an invitation?"  
  
"Only if you don't have a better idea."  
  
Harry sat down on the bed next to Draco, who had made himself comfortable and was lounging on his side in a position that Harry found very tempting.  
  
Draco picked up Harry's wrist and tugged in such a way that Harry went sprawling over Draco.  
  
"Geez, Draco!" exclaimed Harry.  
  
"Shut up." Draco kissed him.  
  
After that, Harry's thoughts lost coherence.  
  
Some time later, Draco stretched out. His pale skin contrasted beautifully with the dark sheets on the bed. "Mmmm... thanks for coming, Harry. I really did miss you."  
  
At that point, Harry was completely content to just to watch Draco. However, there was something sharp poking into his back repeatedly.  
  
The dream dissolved as Harry tried to hold on to the gentle, peaceful feeling that was covering him...  
  
-----  
  
Harry woke abruptly to find himself in the History of Magic classroom with Hermione poking him insistently in the back with her quill. He lifted his head off the desk to see Professor Binns completely absent and the rest of the class staring at him-- half seemed amused and the other half seemed disgusted.  
  
"Hermione," said Harry carefully, "what is going on?"  
  
Hermione was giggling. "I'm sorry, Harry--" giggle-- "but the next time you want to have a sex dream in the middle of class--" laughter-- "please, try not to talk in your sleep." She dissolved into helpless mirth again.  
  
Oh no, thought Harry. This was not good.  
  
-----  
  
So... is Seamus's violently homophobic attitude bigotry, ignorance, or his own repressed homosexual urges? (I definitely have been reading too much about Freud).  
  
Any good? Of course, the last time I asked that I got all of one review, so maybe I should cease and desist...  
  
In any event, I'm going to be away for a few days doing various things, so you won't get any more of this until probably the second or third-- Friday or Saturday. I shall probably have all sorts of ideas when I get back, though, so look forward to it.  
  
Many thanks to chisox727. I must agree, Draco isn't as wimpy as the movie portrayed him as being-- but one can't have anything, and that one image of him pressed up against a rock with a wand at his throat is priceless. Besides, no movie could ever measure up to the books, if only for time constraints. 


	7. Public Opinion and A Shower Scene

Not Only In Dreams  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Chapter Seven: Public Opinion and A Shower Scene  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated and/or non-associated things that I don't own do not belong to me. Perhaps it was redundant, but it certainly beats my English substitute, whose comment "Partners is definitely sufficient enough" led me to lose all respect I may have had for her. Anyone who uses the phrase "sufficient enough" should be shot (not necessarily lethal except in the case of the repeat offender. As far as I am concerned, the breed of people who perpetually mix up 'lose' and 'loose' belong in the same category). Moving along, they belong to their respective owners, who are not I. My writing, sarcasm, witty remarks, not-so-witty remarks, comments, ideas, and other creative property, however, do belong to me, and anyone caught filching them without permission will be sentenced to the same fate as those select few for whom loosing their lives is not sufficient enough. (So I didn't feel like coming up with something new. Bite me.)  
  
Author's Note: Ta-da! I have made it back, several sore muscles and one jammed thumb worse for the wear. (Ow... volleyball....) I have stolen... er, borrowed without permission... a single spell from another piece of fanfiction-- the Wingarmentia spell from Aja's marvellous fic "Love Under Will", which you should all go read if you have a moment (OK, it's long; make that several moments ranging to a few days depending on your schedule and reading speed). I don't take Latin and hate coming up with names and spells, mostly because I'm really anal retentive and try to make them clever, catchy, and linguistically derived ('Riddikulus' would probably not pass my Spell-Creating Standards, but since someone else came up with it, it doesn't bother me. I'm even worse with names, one of the many reasons you won't see many original characters in my fanfiction-- I've spent three days trying to name villains for my D&D group only to find that my party didn't even ask his or her name before beating him or her to a pulp). Anyway, I've rambled for quite long enough (It's all your fault, Rougemessenger-- your life is so interesting, now lengthy Author's notes just look right... her story "Something More" is another one of my favourites, though I must admit I'm more addicted to the side comments...). On with the story! What ho, parenthetical asides, cease and desist!  
  
-----  
  
"So..." said Harry tentatively. "What exactly was I saying?"  
  
Hermione seemed to be trying to say something, but Harry couldn't understand a word of it as she was doubled over, clutching her sides.  
  
He turned to Ron. "Do I even want to know?"  
  
Ron looked at him. "I really, really hope you don't. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?"  
  
The memory was there in Harry's mind, as vivid and tangible as the images in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He poked at it gingerly, catching snippets here and there like so many scraps of shredded quilt. Each time they washed over his consciousness, a wave of sheer feeling threatened to drown him.  
  
"What did I say, exactly?" Harry dreaded the answer.  
  
Ron turned red. "Well... you said 'Draco' a lot in this really funny voice... that was all I could understand, but you really kind of caught the thrust of it..." Ron slammed his hand over his mouth the moment he realised he had actually said the word 'thrust' in a discussion about his best friend's dream about one of his worst enemies.  
  
Parvati pointed. "The drooling was kind of telling, if you ask me."  
  
Harry and Ron both whirled around to retort, but Dean caught both their arms. "Steady on; she's not trying to be offensive."  
  
Harry took a deep breath, then began to pack up his books hurriedly. He was out of the room in less than fifteen seconds, his Quidditch reflexes saving him from a horrible real-life situation yet again.  
  
-----  
  
As Harry walked into the Great Hall later that evening, whispers around the hall suddenly hushed as he walked by, then started up again once he was out of earshot.  
  
He did his best to ignore them, choosing instead to sit near Hermione, Dean, Ginny, Seamus, and Ron, who scooted a seat over when Harry arrived.  
  
"Ron!" said Dean. "It's your best friend. Can't he date who he likes?"  
  
"Not if it's Draco Malfoy!" Ron absorbed himself in his soup, having developed a taste for bouillabaisse after Hermione had forced him to try it the previous summer ("Remember Fleur? She liked it!").  
  
"I'm not dating Malfoy!" said Harry crossly.  
  
Dean and Ginny looked crestfallen.  
  
"Awww, why not, Harry?" asked Ginny, pouting a bit. "You two would make such a cute couple!" Dean nodded.  
  
Harry stared at them. "It's MALFOY! You know, the guy who's been insulting the Gryffindors ever since we first came to Hogwart's?"  
  
"He's hot, though," Ginny observed.  
  
Dean put in, "C'mon, Harry, you've got to admit it. Great body, sleek blonde hair, grey eyes..."  
  
Seamus started. "Not you, too! You're dating Ginny! You've got to be straight!"  
  
"I could be bisexual or simply a straight guy appreciative of male beauty," Dean pointed out mildly.  
  
Seamus shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no, no, and no. I refuse to have two gay guys sharing my room with me. Who knows what you'd get up to at night?"  
  
Ginny gave Seamus a Look that was eerily similar to those her mother frequently bestowed upon Fred and George. "Even if he were bi, Seamus, he would be much too busy thinking about me to do anything with Harry. Harry also has romantic attachments--" here she levelled another Look at Harry-- "whether he wants them or not. I know if I were unattached and getting sent expensive chocolate by anyone as gorgeous as Malfoy, I would jump at the chance."  
  
Ron looked up from his soup, clearly shocked. "Ginny! You wouldn't!"  
  
Ginny looked at him. "I most certainly would. I'm sure neither you nor Harry noticed the brand name on the chocolate he's been getting, but it's really good stuff. Top of the line-- a fancy company that's really exclusive and only does business by mail-order."  
  
"How do you know that?" Ron asked, his curiosity piqued.  
  
Ginny smiled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"  
  
Ron made a disapproving noise very much like the one that Hermione had made the previous year when observing the advertisement for Skiving Snackbox testers that Fred and George had posted on the Gryffindor bulletin board. He stood up noisily and stormed out of the Great Hall, largely unnoticed by the bulk of the student population, which was too busy gossiping about one of the best-known students in the school's possible involvement with the sole heir to a very wealthy, prestigious family of dubious character.  
  
"Anyway, Harry," Dean said, "If you're going to go for Malfoy, Ginny and I are behind you, whatever anyone else may say. Despite some of his previous behaviour, he's really not a bad catch."  
  
Hermione looked thoughtful, but didn't say anything.  
  
Harry looked from one face to the next. "Don't any of you believe that I'm not interested in Malfoy?"  
  
Hermione sighed. "Harry, you are interested in him. You were dreaming about him in the middle of class! At least on some level, you want him. You're just being stubborn."  
  
"I'm just dreaming about him! That doesn't mean that anything should happen in real life!"  
  
"Harry, just how many dreams have you had about him over the past week or so?"  
  
Harry paused to count. "Six, why?"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's every night, Harry! You can't tell me there isn't anything there."  
  
Harry started to say something, but was interrupted by a package hitting him on the head and then bouncing onto the table. It was, predictably, beautifully wrapped in silver and gold and looked very much like one of Draco's previous gifts in style. Harry decided not to open it at the table, and reached for his bag.  
  
"Ooooh!" said Ginny loudly. "What is it, Harry?"  
  
Harry lifted his head. The entire table was looking at him expectantly.  
  
Heaving a sigh and expecting the worst, Harry tugged on the ribbon. The wrapping paper came off gently, exposing a white box. He looked at Ginny. "Do you recognise the brand on this one?"  
  
Ginny appeared to be stifling giggles. "I'm not sure, Harry," she told him quite seriously. "Why don't you open it so we can see if I'm right?"  
  
Inside, Harry could see a pool of shimmer-y black fabric. He touched it as if he thought it were a pack of Exploding Snap cards-- liable to spontaneously combust at any given moment. It was the softest thing he had ever felt-- it felt like some sort of magical silk, Harry mused, based on the knowledge of the fabrics of Aunt Petunia's wardrobe he had gleaned by being forced to do laundry for several years. Hand wash in cold water, he thought wryly. So very like a Malfoy to line a gift box in expensive fabric.  
  
He lifted the silk gently. As he drew it out of the box, he noticed what appeared to be seams, and then an elastic waistband. He groaned out loud. Draco had sent him black silk boxers.  
  
A note had fallen out of the gift and Ginny had pounced on it. "Ooooh, Harry, it's written in green ink! How like a Slytherin!" She read it, looked momentarily disappointed, then handed it to him with a conspiratorial smile.  
  
It read: "Midnight tomorrow, Trophy Room." It was unsigned, but it smelled like cinnamon, and as Harry looked up, Draco caught his eye. The Slytherin was looking directly at him and smirking.  
  
-----  
  
The Slytherin table's gossip was centred on Draco's relationship with Harry, but it a rather different way. It was taken as a given that Draco would get Harry-- Slytherins always got what they wanted-- but half the House was speculating about Draco's motives and the other half was laying bets on how long Harry would be able to resist Draco, easily the most irresistibly sexy student in the school, after the latter had set his sights on the Gryffindor.  
  
"It's definitely sex," Blaise was saying. "I wonder if Potter's any good in bed?"  
  
Pansy made a face. "Ugh, no. I don't think Draco would ever be even remotely attracted to a Gryffindor, would you, Draco darling?"  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "Pansy, I am not attracted to you, nor will I ever be. I have better taste than that."  
  
"Mmmm, but Potter's got that amazing Quidditch body..." Blaise said. "What else could it be?"  
  
"It could be a cunning scheme to bring about the fall of 'Saint Potter'," Pansy said primly. "If I were doing it, that would be why."  
  
Blaise gave her a withering look. "Yes, but Draco is not you. He is refined and subtle, and if he were interested in anything more than pleasure, he certainly wouldn't bandy it about to the likes of you, thought I can't imagine anything that would be better than sex... Do you think he's a virgin, Draco?"  
  
Draco smirked. "Of course he is. He's too innocent and naive to be anything else."  
  
"See?" Blaise said. "It's all about the aesthetics. Two gorgeous Quidditch players, both Seekers on their House Teams? It's too perfect to be true."  
  
"You can't possibly think Potter is gorgeous," said Pansy.  
  
"Have you looked at him recently, Pansy? Like maybe at all in the last two years or so?"  
  
"I make a habit of not looking at Gryffindors, thank you very much," Pansy retorted.  
  
"Well then, you couldn't possibly know how well he's filled out." Blaise's tone dropped to a stage whisper. "I heard he lived with Muggles who starved him before he came here. That's why he was so scrawny in first year." He changed to a more normal voice. "It's also probably why he's in Gryffindor-- because they beat him down for so long. You'll have to do something about that when you catch him, Draco. Anyway, now he looks like you couldn't see his ribs, if you took off those horrible clothes he wears. There's muscle on him. He's matured quite nicely; excellent bone structure..." Blaise was off on the artistic merits of Harry's face, and Draco tuned out selectively, hearing only enough to smack his friend when Blaise suggested that Harry had the 'just out of bed' look perfected, then requested a picture of Harry first thing in the morning to compare.  
  
Draco let the conversation wash over him, a pleasant blanket of white noise. There was a lull of a couple minutes before there was a loud noise from the Gryffindor table. A parcel had just landed on Harry's head.  
  
Draco noted the silence that washed over the hall as the student body observed their current topic of conversation opening a gift. Of course, he knew what was in it, but it would be very amusing to see what Harry and everyone else would make of the gift.  
  
Sure enough, Harry lifted the black silk. Draco had been very careful to make it look like just more wrapping so that he could enjoy the Harry's embarrassment. He would eventually have to teach the boy how to receive gifts like this one without the bat of an eyelid, but in the meantime, it was very funny to watch the Gryffindor.  
  
He caught Harry's eye after the latter finished reading the note he had enclosed, but the eye contact broke when Harry abruptly stood up to leave.  
  
Draco rose gracefully and intercepted Harry just before he could escape the Hall to the relative privacy of his dorm.  
  
"Now, now, Harry, you wouldn't want to run off like that, would you?" Draco purred, pinning Harry to the wall.  
  
Harry wiggled around a bit, presumably trying to get free, but Draco could tell his heart wasn't in it.  
  
"What do you want, Malfoy?"  
  
"Oh, I think you know what I want." Draco looked at Harry. Yes, he definitely wanted him... up against the wall, flushed with embarrassment... very kissable.  
  
Before either of them knew quite what was happening, Draco had taken the last step between the two of them. Harry's lips involuntarily parted as Draco's breath swept gently over them. It was an irresistible invitation; Draco moved his own lips into contact with Harry's and watched in satisfaction as Harry pressed closer to him. In the deftest of movements, Draco brought his tongue in to tease the roof of Harry's mouth and was rewarded with Harry's soft intake of breath and a pair of green eyes reluctantly closing.  
  
Several moments later-- all too soon for Draco's taste-- Harry seemed to regain control and broke away, looking both dazed and thoroughly kissed.  
  
"Did you like it, Potter?" Draco asked conversationally while he waited for Harry to regain his linguistic ability.  
  
Harry nodded slowly, as if amazed. He was touching his lips with a strong-looking tanned hand as if he couldn't believe that anything had just happened to them in front of several hundred people.  
  
After a moment, the glaze over Harry's eyes seemed to fade.  
  
Draco chose his moment. "By the way, Potter... is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"  
  
As he had predicted, the cliché jolted Harry back to the world of the functioning. "Geez, Draco, can't you come up with anything original?"  
  
Perfect. Draco moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, gratified when Harry's eyes glazed over slightly again. "Well, actually, Potter... I can. Wingarmentia!"  
  
Harry's pants flew off.  
  
Draco smirked. "Clearly, not a wand."  
  
Harry scrambled for his pants as Snape swooped over like a malevolent bat. "Mr. Malfoy, I am astonished. I thought you had more decorum than this. Fifty points from Hufflepuff!"  
  
"Sir?" asked Draco, puzzled. "From Hufflepuff?"  
  
Snape glared at him. "You know as well as I do that I am characterised as hyperbolically biased towards my own house. However... have it your way. Twenty points from Gryffindor for indecent exposure and seventy from Slytherin for misconduct."  
  
Draco looked shocked for a moment, then grinned. "Worth it. See you later, Harry."  
  
Harry was left standing halfway into his pants as the youngest Malfoy grinned roguishly and swept off.  
  
The entire hall was dumbstruck as Harry roughly pulled up his jeans and ran out.  
  
-----  
  
Draco slid into bed the moment he got down to Slytherin. It was so much to think about... the way Harry had reacted to the kiss beautifully, but more importantly, the way that it had been so much better than it had been in dreams. It was definitely something to think about... if real sex was as exponentially better than dream sex, then Harry just might have to become a permanent part of his life, and that involved emotions.  
  
-----  
  
If that was what happened when he fell asleep in class, Harry decided, it was much safer to sleep at night. He would make the sacrifice and dream of Draco nights as long as he never found himself moaning Draco's name in class again. If that was what happened, he definitely didn't want any of it.  
  
First off, Harry wanted revenge for the black silk boxers. Even if they seemed like they would be amazingly comfortable against bare skin, there was absolutely no reason Draco should have sent them to him in the middle of dinner. It was completely uncalled for, and Harry had had a devious idea to get back at the Slytherin. He wrote a letter, enclosed some gold, and ran up to the Owlery to send it off. Mission accomplished, he returned to his dorm.  
  
That kiss... it had so much more to it than the dream kisses he had been receiving on a nightly basis. It was almost intriguing. Harry decided to sleep on it.  
  
After doing as much of his homework as he could with his diminished ability to concentrate, Harry settled into bed and slept. Eventually, he dreamed.  
  
-----  
  
Harry was playing Slytherin in a Quidditch match, and there was more tension than ever before between the two Seekers. Draco had clearly been practicing a lot, because he finally was good enough to seriously challenge Harry's natural Quidditch ability. The match had been going on for just over seven hours, and his robe was soaked through with sweat. The day was hot, and both Seekers had been flying with an intensity that Harry was entirely certain Hogwart's had never seen before. He wasn't sure what the score was, but he was aware that the crowd was paying next to no attention to the other members of the team as his struggle with Draco for the Snitch had been constant, impressive, and passionate.  
  
It finally ended when Harry, desperate to end the game, grabbed Draco's groin and used the leverage to give him the extra push needed to catch the Snitch. Madame Hooch called it, of course, and gave Slytherin a penalty, but it was worth it. Gryffindor had won the match, and it was worth it.  
  
He groaned as he landed; he had never flown so hard and for so long before and he was sore all over. He could tell from the way Draco was walking that the Slytherin felt the same way.  
  
He headed for the shower, not even bothering to accept the congratulations his friends and teammates were showering upon him.  
  
As soon as he was alone in the corridor, however, Draco grabbed his shoulder. "Come with me, Harry."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"The Slytherin showers are better than the Gryffindor ones."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Look, I'll rub your back if you'll rub mine."  
  
That sounded good to Harry. "OK."  
  
They walked off down the halls together, a sense of mutual respect for the other's ability on a broom diffusing the tension from the Quidditch.  
  
When they got to the blank wall that was the entrance to Slytherin, Draco gave the password curtly ("Grasshopper") and led Harry through the common room and to the shower. Though the cubicles were tiny, they were beautifully made of smooth black stone.  
  
Harry stripped and asked, "Won't the rest of the house notice?"  
  
Draco shook his head. "No, they'll be too busy lamenting their loss. Far be it from most of them to see excellent Quidditch if they aren't supporting the winning team."  
  
"Why don't they just support Gryffindor, then?"  
  
"Because our teams are, for the first time since the school was founded, completely evenly matched. I must admit, though, it was brilliant of you to grab me there. You managed to find the one thing that would distract me long enough to let you get the Snitch." Draco turned around then, holding his green Quidditch robes over one arm. He was magnificently naked, with strands of wet blonde hair dishevelled and plastered to his forehead by the sweat. He was almost glowing as the dim light caught the fine blonde hair on his arms and legs. "Here, give me those." Draco reached out and took Harry's clothes and left them draped over an adjacent shower stall. "The house-elves will get them."  
  
Harry stepped into the shower and turned on the water, which poured down from the four corners of the stall, soaking him over his entire body. The pressure was magnificent, pounding into his sore muscles, releasing the residual tension and rinsing off the sweat. His eyes closed and a whimper of pleasure escaped his lips even before he felt Draco's body align with his and surprisingly soft hands press into his back.  
  
Harry's eyes flew open. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Shhhh..." Draco said soothingly. "I told you I'd rub your back."  
  
Harry reached around Draco's back to return the favour, bringing them close together.  
  
It wasn't long before the potential pleasure of the situation overrode the pain in their bodies. The shower was hot and steamy, and they were letting their hands roam over each other.  
  
Draco smirked, a couple locks of hair in his eyes sending streams of water over his cheeks. "That feels better, doesn't it?"  
  
Harry nodded. "And you were right, by the way."  
  
"Of course I was; I'm always right. Which occasion are you referring to?"  
  
"Slytherin showers are better than the Gryffindor ones, especially if they've got you in them."  
  
"In them, eh?" Draco's eyes lit. "Well, you did prove that you were proficient in riding a broom... perhaps you'd like to show me you're as good at being ridden."  
  
Harry gasped as Draco's hands found a particularly sensitive spot on his ass, and Draco took that as consent.  
  
He turned off the water and handed Harry a thick forest green towel, taking another for himself.  
  
Each boy wrapped the towel around his waist.  
  
"Shall we go to bed?" Draco asked.  
  
"Won't your House be around?"  
  
"Probably not, and if they are, I'll hex them."  
  
"Then that sounds wonderful." Harry smiled warmly, and Draco felt the warmth of an unfamiliar emotion fill his chest to an almost painful point.  
  
They made the trip to Draco's dorm without the latter hexing anyone, though. As they fell into the bed, they let their towels fall onto the ground.  
  
As skin touched skin, the burning feeling of being too full of emotion in Draco's chest lessened. He could tell that, whatever it was between the Slytherin and the Gryffindor, it was mutual.  
  
Some time later, they fell asleep together.  
  
-----  
  
The next morning, Harry woke up and felt disoriented for a moment. The dream he had had the previous night had been altogether too Malfoy-oriented to be classified as good, but it was far too pleasant to be considered a nightmare or even simply a bad dream.  
  
On the bright side, he was no longer dreaming about Voldemort.  
  
As normal waking consciousness ebbed back to Harry, though, he remembered something that he had arranged to happen at breakfast. A smile broke across his face, and he bounced out of bed with a considerably greater amount of early-morning high spirits than he usually displayed.  
  
"What's going on? Is there a fire or something? Sirius Black isn't here to murder us again, is he?" mumbled Seamus sleepily.  
  
Harry grinned. "You'll see."  
  
-----  
  
Harry was fifteen minutes early to breakfast and fidgeted impatiently until the rest of the school began to arrive. Hermione was the first person to sit near him. Harry eagerly started a conversation with her about S.P.E.W, which startled her so much that she was speechless for a full minute and a half after he had started to chatter.  
  
Eventually, the hall began to fill, and with it, Harry's anticipation grew so much he felt like he could barely remain seated. Nothing could dampen his excitement, even Ron and Seamus, who had deliberately chosen seats together at the opposite end of the table.  
  
The peak of Harry's tension came about when Draco, fifteen minutes late and looking uncharacteristically rumpled, walked into the Hall. His hair was tousled and it seemed the blonde had forgotten to do anything with it that morning.  
  
Harry had to check a fleeting impulse to run over and hug the Slytherin. 'Where did that come from?' he wondered briefly before biting his lip and turning his attention to the meal at hand.  
  
Another fifteen minutes went by before the post began to arrive. Owls soared overhead, and Harry watched anxiously.  
  
There was a note for him, but, thankfully to his mind, no gift with any romantic or sexual connotations whatsoever. Of course, Ginny promptly stole the note, squealing when she read it ("Oooh, Harry! It's from Draco!"), but it didn't concern him. He was able to snatch it back before she read it to the table, and he was more interested in watching the Slytherin table.  
  
Finally, after the horde of owls had thinned, he saw Hedwig bearing a gift box.  
  
She dropped it on Draco's empty breakfast plate, then flew directly to Harry's shoulder to roost.  
  
A titter went through the crowd as they watched the flight of the owl, correctly guessing the significance of its behaviour: Harry had sent Draco something.  
  
Draco prodded the box suspiciously with his wand, but nothing outrageous happened. Slowly, he undid the ribbon (green, Draco wondered when Harry had become sensitive to his House colours) and lifted the lid.  
  
There was something pink and sticky inside.  
  
He lifted the whatever-it-was out of the box for closer inspection, and then turned pink (incidentally matching Harry's gift perfectly), groaned, and winked at Harry in rapid succession.  
  
"Edible panties, Potter?" Draco said, clearly enough for both his target and the entire school to hear. "Is that an invitation?"  
  
-----  
  
Ah, poor Harry... he seems to have botched his attempt at retaliation, though he did manage to get Draco to blush....  
  
chisox727-- I'll admit to my wording of Harry's attempt at 'staying up' was Freudian, but it no way was it a 'slip'. I tend to mean what I say, and fix those cases in which I have goofed. Puns here will generally be more intentional than incidental. Thanks for noticing!  
  
cofaym: You're very much welcome; it's a pleasure to write this story. It's flowing much more easily than my other one.  
  
Please review, it makes me happy, and happy writers write more. 


	8. Chapter 8

Not Only In Dreams  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Chapter Eight:  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated and/or non-associated things that I don't own do not belong to me. Perhaps it was redundant, but it certainly beats my English substitute, whose comment "Partners is definitely sufficient enough" led me to lose all respect I may have had for her. Anyone who uses the phrase "sufficient enough" should be shot (not necessarily lethal except in the case of the repeat offender. As far as I am concerned, the breed of people who perpetually mix up 'lose' and 'loose' belong in the same category). Moving along, they belong to their respective owners, who are not I. My writing, sarcasm, witty remarks, not-so-witty remarks, comments, ideas, and other creative property, however, do belong to me, and anyone caught filching them without permission will be sentenced to the same fate as those select few for whom loosing their lives is not sufficient enough. (So I didn't feel like coming up with something new. Bite me.)  
  
Author's Note: Sorry this chapter took so long. It was being difficult. I had to spank it soundly and send it to bed early several days in a row. In any event, I got it out (finally).  
  
Kudos to whoever manages to catch the reference to the musical "Cabaret".  
  
Enjoy.  
  
-----  
  
The Great Hall erupted into laughter.  
  
Embarrassed, Harry unsuccessfully attempted to slip away unnoticed. The huge wooden doors of the Hall swung shut behind him amidst catcalls and jeers.  
  
He ran.   
  
Once he'd put distance between himself and the echoes of taunting students, he paused and began to walk, lost in his own thoughts.  
  
Eventually, Harry looked up. Someone seemed to be saying something to him.  
  
"Harry! Yer early! Are yeh feelin' all right?" Hagrid was telling him loudly.  
  
Harry realised his feet had carried him to his first class. NEWT-level Care of Magical Creatures. With the Slytherins.  
  
"Yeah, Hagrid. I'm fine." Harry shifted nervously, hoping that his stance wouldn't give him away. "Just excited about class, is all."  
  
"I've got a great project for yeh all!" Hagrid enthused. "Yeh're gonna love it!"  
  
Harry felt a sinking feeling starting somewhere around his gut. Anything Hagrid was enthusiastic about was bound to send someone to the Hospital Wing at some point.  
  
At that point, the other students got there in a clump, laughing and giggling. Only Draco arrived seperately, glaring fiercely at the gossiping teenagers.  
  
"Partner up!" Hagrid yelled over the din.  
  
Harry looked at Hermione, but she had already grabbed Neville. "Sorry, Harry, it's for our own safety!"  
  
Everyone else had already found a partner. Harry looked desperately around and found that there was one person yet to find someone to work with.  
  
"Potter, as you have no alternative, you are going to work with me," said Draco Malfoy. "We are going to attempt to get through whatever that oaf sets us without any injury."  
  
"He's not an oaf!" protested Harry.  
  
"Harry, darling," Draco said (while Parvati and Lavendar giggled), "no matter how much you like him, he is still incompetent. He may be the most adorable half-giant in existence, but he is not in any way a good teacher."  
  
Harry decided not to answer that and turned his attention to the lesson.  
  
"Today, we're grooming the Southern Stingfish!" said Hagrid brightly. "Come up here and get your grooming cloth, then return to your places." Hagrid indicated several tables, each which had a large tank containing a large, blue-green fish with painful-looking spikes on the fins. "Just watch the prickers, they pack a powerful poison. It won't kill you, but it will be unpleasant."  
  
Harry went and got the grooming cloths. He handed one to Draco in silence.  
  
"I bet they don't even need grooming," groused Draco. "Why do we have to do this?"  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry hissed between clenched teeth.  
  
"I thought I told you to call me Draco."  
  
"I've decided I really don't like you, even if you aren't insulting my friends any longer."  
  
"Oh? And is that why you're dreaming about me?"  
  
"It's only in dreams I'll even tolerate your prescence."  
  
"Not only in dreams, Potter. You enjoyed that kiss yesterday."  
  
"So maybe you're a good kisser. Doesn't make you any less of a slimy git."  
  
"We'll see, Potter. The pink undies? You sent me those because you despise me?"  
  
"Those were payback."  
  
"Oh, so it wan't because of your mental image of me in them?"  
  
Harry hadn't thought about that before, but now that Draco said it, the thought was curiously intriguing. As he pondered it, distracted with his arms submerged in the tub of water up to his elbows, the cloth slipped from between his fingers and the fish took the opportunity to jab on of its fins into his exposed palm.  
  
Jerked from his thoughts by the pain, Harry yelped and pulled his hand back, cradling it on his other arm.  
  
Draco looked horrified but unsurprised. "Here, Harry," he said gently. "Let me see."  
  
Harry moaned as the stinging intensified into a throbbing, red pain. He barely noticed as Draco gently took the wrist of his injured hand and drew it towards himself. The last thing he felt before the poison took over was the soft touch of Draco's lips on his palm.  
  
Draco caught Harry as the latter collapsed onto his shoulder. He put his hand up. "Hagrid, Harry's passed out. May I bring him to the Hospital Wing?"  
  
Hagrid grunted in consent, too busy critiquing Seamus's grooming technique to catch who exactly was bringing the Boy Who Lived up to the Infirmary.  
  
Draco lifted Harry with some effort, put him back down, cast a charm, and picked him up again, much more easily this time.  
  
-----  
  
Madame Pomfrey was halfway between shocked and horrified when Draco laid Harry down on one of the cots.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy! As long as you are here, I expect you to behave with the best of decorum toward my patient!" she scolded.  
  
"Certainly," Draco drawled, not really listening, more concerned with Harry's well-being. He hadn't even made his conquest yet! It would simply not do to have his prize die of a stupid wound from a Care of Magical Creatures class.  
  
"I'll hold you to that," she warned as she turned to Harry, assessed his condition, and selected a potion. She poured it between his lips, and after he swallowed, Harry's entire body relaxed visibly.  
  
"He should wake up soon," Madame Pomfrey said. "I suppose you'd like to stay with him."  
  
"Please," Draco said, thinking, "Let no one say that a Malfoy can't be polite when it suits his purpose!"  
  
Draco settled into the chair beside Harry's bed. Yes, Draco decided, Harry definitely a worthy goal for him. Asleep, he was beautiful-- almost as much as Draco was.  
  
After a few minutes, Madame Pomfrey stood. "I have to go now. Behave yourself." She bustled out of the room.  
  
Draco nodded until he was sure she was gone, then leaned over and kissed Harry. The lips under his were soft but unresponsive, and Draco found himself fervently wishing that Madame Pomfrey's 'soon' had already come to pass. It shouldn't take this long for him to wake, should it? He felt worry beginning to gnaw at him.  
  
To console himself, he shifted over onto the bed next to Harry and wrapped an arm around the Gryffindor's waist, curling up to Harry's heavy, warm, sleeping body to wait.  
  
Just as Draco had gotten bored and was leaning over Harry to kiss him again, Harry opened his eyes sleepily. It was the single most adorable thing Draco had ever seen, including his own baby pictures.  
  
"Are you all right?" asked Draco softly, not sure how far away Madame Pomfrey had gone.  
  
"Yeah, thanks," said Harry, his voice a bit cloudy. Draco could tell that Harry was still disoriented from the poison, despite the antidote.  
  
He seized the moment. "Mmmm... Harry, you're gorgeous."  
  
Harry was nonplussed. "What?"  
  
"You're beautiful. I want you to be mine."  
  
"You're the pretty one," Harry protested, obviously still out of synch with the world.  
  
Draco was doing happy dances in his head, almost tempted to see that Harry was poisoned more often if this was what the recovery was like. (As a matter of fact, the only thing that put him off the idea was the nasty apprehensive feeling while Harry was still unconscious. Hopefully, Harry would come around soon and realise that he belonged to Draco and Draco alone, making such schemes unnecessary.)  
  
Harry lifted his uninjured hand to touch Draco's cheek. The light touch sent chills down Draco's spine; Harry was finally touching him of his own will (well... sort of).  
  
All too soon, Harry came around and pulled away.  
  
Draco sat back on his heels. "Feeling better, Potter?"  
  
Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah... my hand still tingles, but it's not too bad. Thanks for bringing me up."  
  
Harry lifted his hand to inspect it. There was a light covering of blood where spines had pierced it.  
  
Draco caught Harry's wrist again, and in the moment where Harry was shocked and staring into his eyes, drew it to his lips and licked the blood off.  
  
To Harry, it was slightly creepy and intimate to a frightening extent, but though he tried to pull away, his hand was not released as Draco reached for a roll of bandage and tied it over the wound.  
  
"There," Draco said. "That should be better."  
  
Shakily, Harry said, "Thank you."  
  
Draco stood up reluctantly. "Well, it's almost lunch time, and I really don't want to miss it. Shall we go?" He offered Harry a hand up.  
  
Harry hesitated a moment, then took Draco's hand. "Thanks again."  
  
-----  
  
Draco watched Harry sit at the Gryffindor table, then took his own seat. Lunch promised to be interesting.  
  
-----  
  
Harry turned to Hermione and prodded her in the arm.  
  
Hermione looked at him waspishly. "Did you have to do that so hard?"  
  
"Sorry," said Harry sheepishly. "I just wanted to talk. Is that OK?"  
  
Hermione softened and nodded. "Sure, Harry. What about?"  
  
Harry lowered his voice. "Malfoy."  
  
"What about him?"  
  
"He's acting so... weird. He kissed my hand in Creatures today, did you see?"  
  
"I saw it."  
  
"Then... what happened? Why was he there when I woke up in the Hospital Wing?"  
  
"He carried you there." Hermione repressed a smile.  
  
"Why is he being so nice? What happened to the jerk who used to insult us every time he saw us?"  
  
"Didn't you tell me yourself, Harry, a few days ago?" asked Hermione. "You were the one who told me that he decided that You-Know-Who wasn't good enough for him and that he'd grown out of bigoted insults."  
  
"Yeah, but... it's such a radical change. I don't get it. He could just be neutral to me, couldn't he? Why all the special effort?"  
  
"Maybe he's not fighting the dreams you two are having. Maybe he's being sensible. Maybe he's realised that he is attracted to you, Harry, and isn't wasting his energy trying to change part of who he is."  
  
Before Harry could answer, a large owl dropped a package on his lap.  
  
"Oh no," said Harry. "Not again."  
  
"Open it," Hermione advised, "before Ginny decides to open it for you and inform the whole school."  
  
Harry undid the wrapping and lifted the lid of the box. Something ribbon-like and black flew out of it, and after a few seconds, Harry felt a weight around his throat.  
  
"It's not some sort of flying snake, is it?" asked Harry.  
  
"No..." said Hermione, giggling. "It's a choker."  
  
"Why is Malfoy sending me jewelry?"  
  
"It looks good on you."  
  
"I don't care. I must look like a girl. How do you take it off?"  
  
Hermione leaned over and fiddled with it. "I think it doesn't come off."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I think it doesn't come off. It's fastened by magic."  
  
"Can't you find the counterspell?"  
  
"I could, but it'll take time. Besides, I told you, it looks good on you."  
  
Harry glanced at his reflection in his plate. It was a band of some black material-- possibly dragon hide-- that rested against his skin and felt smooth. Set in silver and resting just above the hollow of his throat, there was an emerald in one of those oval cuts with points at either end. Harry didn't know the name for the cut, but he suspected Draco did. Hermione was right; it did become him. It also looked ridiculously expensive. He resolved to speak with Draco about this whole gift-giving thing; it would have to stop. As he looked more closely at the box, there was a note nestled in the bottom. It read "Don't forget-- Trophy Room at midnight" in what Harry had come to recognise as Draco's signature green ink. He wondered if Snape gave Draco bonus points for essays in the color, and resolved to try writing in green himself.  
  
----  
  
Thankfully, Harry's class in the afternoon passed without incident. There had been so much Malfoy in his life recently that it was refreshing not to have any reminder of the blonde (except the choker, which was a persistent weight at his throat and was impossible to ignore). It gave him time to brood.  
  
---  
  
Hermione's afternoon, however, was not quite so uneventful. She tagged Malfoy just before dinner as he came out of his class.  
  
"Granger!" he exclaimed. "How do you know my schedule?"  
  
She smiled. "I have my ways, Malfoy. Even more ways than you do."  
  
He thought a moment. "Oh, I see. You just asked McGonagall, didn't you? Something about 'I wanted to check my Arithmancy homework, and no one else has done it yet', I expect."  
  
"It could have been Runes."  
  
He looked pleasantly surprised. "I got it right?"  
  
"Just a bit."  
  
"Anyway, Granger, I'm sure you didn't stop me for idle chitchat. What gives?"  
  
"Oh, just something I wanted to tell you."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"The password to Gryffindor is Veela Hair."  
  
"Why do I need to know that? I don't even know where it is!"  
  
"Oh... you could just follow Harry after your midnight rendezvous."  
  
Draco paused, considering. "I like the way you think, Granger, I really do."  
  
She smirked. "Good."  
  
-----  
  
Just before midnight, Harry left his dorm under his Invisibility Cloak. He wasn't entirely sure why he was going, but he didn't even feel particularly apprehensive; recently the Slytherin had been acting markedly not Slytherinish at all.  
  
Draco was waiting for him, slouched against the wall. Harry let the Invisibility Cloak drop in a soft ruffle of fabric.  
  
The blonde looked up dispassionately. "You're late, Potter."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"That's not acceptable, but it's a start."  
  
Harry stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "What did you want, Malfoy?"  
  
"First, you're calling me Draco."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I said so."  
  
"Maaaal-foy. I am not doing anything just because 'you said so'."  
  
"Fine then. Do it because I'm pretty."  
  
"You are--" Harry stopped abruptly. He WAS a Gryffindor, and lying is just not in the Gryffindor Nature. Besides, calling Draco not pretty was beyond just lying. It was in the category of Falsehood Worse than Perjury.  
  
"See? I am. You said so this morning, anyway."  
  
Harry blushed, and Draco poked him. "You're so cute when you do that."  
  
Harry glared. "Is that why you got me to come all the way out here at midnight? To see me blush? You see it a lot."  
  
"No, Potter. I got you to come all the way out here at midnight so I could do this." Draco kissed him.  
  
Several minutes later, Harry broke free and ran, somewhere between shocked, confused, and turned-on. Draco grabbed Harry's cloak, put it on, and followed.  
  
-----  
  
Harry collapsed into bed. He was asleep almost instantly, so he didn't feel the invisible weight that climbed into bed right after him.  
  
They dreamed.  
  
-----  
  
It was fourth year, right after the Quidditch Cup. Harry had just ran from the Weasley tent with Ron and Hermione and come across Draco lounging on a tree.  
  
Harry found himself talking. "Herm, Ron, go on without me. I'll take care of him."  
  
After Harry's friends had disappeared, Draco spoke. "Mmmm, Harry. You're going to take care of me? Can you even take care of yourself?"  
  
"Of course I can."  
  
"You went running fast enough, Potter. Or were you worried you'd be unable to protect Granger?"  
  
"I didn't want to take unnecessary risks."  
  
"Oh? What does that make me?"  
  
"Too sexy to pass up."  
  
"Potter, you're beginning to show taste." With that, Draco pounced.  
  
Just as the tree Harry's dream-self was rammed up against became uncomfortable, they woke up.  
  
-----  
  
Draco was watching as Harry's eyes opened.  
  
"How was the dream?" he asked in a whisper.  
  
Harry jumped and scrambled to the other side of the bed. "Draco! I'm naked!"  
  
"That's why I'm here."  
  
"But... but..."  
  
"Quiet. I've cast an Imperturbable charm on your bed so we won't be interrupted. Calm down and enjoy it. It's not as if everyone was offered sex by anyone as remarkably gorgeous as I am."  
  
"I don't want it."  
  
Draco reached between Harry's legs. "Don't you?"  
  
Harry didn't say anything; he was too busy feeling.  
  
"Well?" Draco asked, moving away.  
  
"Don't... stop..." Harry said breathlessly.  
  
Draco smirked. "I didn't think so." He smirked and rolled over on top of Harry. Skin hit skin for the first time in real life, and the smirk disappeared from Draco's lips. It felt like there were fireworks going off every place there was contact.  
  
Afterwards, they were both sweaty and panting. Draco reached out and toyed with Harry's choker. "I was right. The real thing was better than dreaming."  
  
Harry didn't say anything. Draco guessed that linguistic control had yet to return to the Gryffindor, so he went on. "It was definitely worth it." He reached over and pulled out a box. "Chocolate?"  
  
Harry shook his head violently to clear it. "Draco, it's at least two o'clock in the morning. I have just lost my virginity to someone I don't even LIKE. I am seriously contemplating homocide, and you offer me chocolate?"  
  
Draco lifted a piece out of the box and slipped it between Harry's lips. "You like chocolate, I saw you the other day." Right on cue, Harry's head tilted back and a soft noise escaped his lips.  
  
Draco continued. "Besides... I like looking at your face when you've got that orgasmic expression on it, whether it was caused by an actual orgasm or just good chocolate."  
  
Harry swallowed the chocolate, eliminating the distraction. "You're incorrigable."  
  
"You like it." Draco popped another chocolate between Harry's lips.  
  
Harry took the point and was quiet.  
  
They fell asleep again after a while.  
  
-----  
  
Harry woke up the next morning alone, but there was still a warm spot next to him and also a note on the pillow in green ink.  
  
He spent five seconds feeling warm and fuzzy, then the emotion abruptly switched to confusion tinged with a bit of disgust-- though nowhere near as much disgust as there might have been three days previously.  
  
The note was brief ("Sorry I couldn't stay, but obviously...") and unsigned.  
  
He dressed absently and wandered downstairs to find Hermione.  
  
The common room was devoid of people, and when Harry looked at the clock, he noticed he was late for breakfast.  
  
He grabbed his books and ran down to the Great Hall.  
  
Heads turned as he walked in the door. Whispers rustled through the students as wind rustles through leaves durning a tornado in August-- loud, obnoxious, and destructive. Well... perhaps not destructive except to Harry's friendship with Ron and Seamus.  
  
Harry deliberately ignored the gossip and sat down next to Hermione. "We need to talk," he told her.  
  
She looked at him briefly and gasped. "Oh my god. He pounced."  
  
Harry was taken aback. "How did you know?" After a moment, Harry went: "Oh, wait, never mind, you're Hermione."  
  
She smiled, then changed her expression quickly so as not to upset Harry. "If you need advice, go for it, Harry."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Don't think too much about it, Harry. It felt good, didn't it?"  
  
"Well... yes..."  
  
There were loud "oooh"s from the direction of Parvati and Lavender, which Harry desperately tried to ignore.  
  
"Then what's wrong?"  
  
"He's... Draco!"  
  
"You're calling him 'Draco'. That, in and of itself, is indicative of your emotions for him."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're using his first name; you like him."  
  
"Oh. I do?"  
  
Hermione looked at him fondly. "You're so cute, Harry."  
  
They were distracted by the arrival of the mail.  
  
Across the room, Draco was staring at a plain white envelope as if it night explode. Harry watched, mesmerised, as Draco opened it.  
  
-----  
  
Draco:  
  
I am torn, son. A Malfoy should never deny himself anything he wants, but is Harry Potter really the best choice of lover? You will find yourself disappointed when Lord Voldemort finally decides to kill him, you know.  
  
Your father,  
  
Lucius Malfoy  
  
-----  
  
Draco stood up abruptly, slamming his chair into the wall. "Does the entire world have to know I'm sleeping with Harry Potter?"  
  
Blaise poked him in the shoulder. "It could have to do with the article in 'Witch Weekly' yesterday."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"I didn't write it!" Blaise exclaimed.  
  
Draco just glared at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"You were too busy trying to seduce Potter."  
  
"Oh." Draco paused, trying to regain his customary calm. "So, shall we kill whoever wrote it?"  
  
Blaise looked at him. "Draco, let's just go to class."  
  
Draco stewed quietly until breakfast was over.  
  
-----  
  
During Transfiguration that morning, Professor McGonagall quietly stopped Harry from where he was finally learning how to turn a desk into a pig. "The Headmaster would like to see you. The password is Butter Rum Cake."  
  
Harry sighed, gathered his books together, and left, leaving poor Professor McGonagall with a classroom of students more interested in discussing Harry's unexplained absence than the lesson at hand.  
  
-----  
  
Harry found the statue and Draco at the same time. The blonde was alternately poking it with his wand and trying to persuade it to let him in.  
  
Harry walked up behind him. "So, no one told you the password?"  
  
Draco jumped, then turned around. "Oh, hello, Harry, fancy seeing you here."  
  
Feeling uncomfortable, Harry said "Butter rum cake" in lieu of a real response.  
  
"What?" For a moment, Draco had an adorable confused expression, then it disappeared. "Oh, the password. Shall we go?"  
  
Before Harry could say anything, Draco caught his hand and whisked him up the steps.  
  
In Dumbledore's office, the Headmaster was waiting. The only thing missing from the office, in fact, was the customary twinkle in Dumbledore's eye.  
  
Harry took a step back. Even Draco, unfamiliar with Dumbledore, realised there was something wrong.  
  
"Boys," Dumbledore began, "I want you to know I am very disappointed in both of you."  
  
"Why?" asked Draco.  
  
"You two are far too young to be carrying on sexual relations. While I will not expel you if such abominable conduct is continued, be forewarned that I shall make the consequences unpleasant. You may go."  
  
Stunned, Harry and Draco left the office.  
  
Outside the door, Harry turned on Draco. "You got me in trouble for practically nonconsensual sex?"  
  
"It wasn't nonconsensual! You were practically screaming 'yes' after the first five minutes!"  
  
"You didn't ask BEFORE the first five minutes!"  
  
"No, because you were too incoherent with lust to answer me!"  
  
"That doesn't matter! You snuck into my dorm at night!"  
  
"You enjoyed it!"  
  
"Draco!"  
  
"See, you're using my first name."  
  
"That does not mean I want to have sex with you!"  
  
"Harry, come with me a moment and I'll show you."  
  
"What?"  
  
Draco dragged Harry out of the hall and into the nearest deserted classroom. "We still have half an hour before lunch. Let me explain something to you."  
  
"Explain wha-- mrphfff!" Harry began to speak but was cut off by Draco, who seemed intent on kissing him.  
  
It was precisely seven seconds later when Harry leaned into the kiss and began responding greedily.  
  
In less than a minute, Draco pulled back. "See, Harry? You want me."  
  
Harry was too dazed to reply.  
  
"Why the fuck are you fighting it?"  
  
Harry had regained control of his senses and wasn't happy. "Because you've lost me one of my two best friends and made me the object of popular rumor! AGAIN! I'm so sick of it all, Draco, I just want to be left alone so I can have relationships that aren't constantly sabotaged by the media!"  
  
Draco sat down on the floor and pulled Harry down with him. "Look, we need to talk."  
  
"Sure. We can talk. Just don't make it cut into my lunch."  
  
"You're fighting this attraction you feel for me. Don't bother arguing or you WILL be late for lunch. You're fighting it and it is not nor will it ever do you any good. I'm sure Hermione's told you this, but it's not a bad thing. You can just let go and feel."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. After a bit, he said, "I suppose our conversation with Dumbledore ten minutes ago doesn't count?"  
  
"No."  
  
Harry was silent again. Draco waited a full five minutes before speaking. "See, Harry? There's no reason why you shouldn't give me a chance. I promise I won't get you in more trouble with Dumbledore."  
  
To his own surprise, Draco meant it.  
  
Harry scrutinized Draco's face, unsure. "All right, then. I'll give you a chance. Just no more ostentatious gifts in the middle of meals, k?"  
  
And so Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy reached a truce of sorts.  
  
-----  
  
Many thanks to Dragonphly. Her review convinced me to keep writing and posting this, since I was having doubts when I was training this chapter to 'sit' and 'stay'. 


	9. What Happened?

Not Only In Dreams  
  
By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Chapter Nine: What Happened?  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated and/or non-associated things that I don't own do not belong to me. Perhaps it was redundant, but it certainly beats my English substitute, whose comment "Partners is definitely sufficient enough" led me to lose all respect I may have had for her. Anyone who uses the phrase "sufficient enough" should be shot (not necessarily lethal except in the case of the repeat offender. As far as I am concerned, the breed of people who perpetually mix up 'lose' and 'loose' belong in the same category). Moving along, they belong to their respective owners, who are not I. My writing, sarcasm, witty remarks, not-so-witty remarks, comments, ideas, and other creative property, however, do belong to me, and anyone caught filching them without permission will be sentenced to the same fate as those select few for whom loosing their lives is not sufficient enough. (So I didn't feel like coming up with something new. Bite me.)  
  
Author's Note: If this chapter is short, it's because I'm going off to an English course for three weeks, and while I will be refining my writing skill, I will not have access to a computer. I shall, however, return, hopefully with a three-page outline (hmmm, maybe I should have listened to my grade school teachers earlier; it helps immensely. Hence the sudden increase in chapter length). I have less than 24 hours to get this finished after struggling with the last chapter (not to mention the fact that I was busy beyond belief last week with one thing and another). Many regrets, but have faith. If you're bored, go read "Something More" by Roguemessanger or "Unthinkable Thoughts" by Aidan Lynch. If you still haven't come up with a better way to occupy your time, try finding "Domino Effect" and "Of Shooting Stars and Battle Scars", the two fics (the latter is the sequel of the former) that sealed my firm belief in H/D slash. I lost them and have been unable to relocate them or find the author, something that bothers me greatly. If you can find either them or the author in the three weeks I am gone (or even afterwards), I shall be greatly surprised and, in orgasmic bliss, do something completely unexpected (no promises... just veiled hints for now). In any event... let's go on with the show (that's an "Annie, Get Your Gun" reference, by the way).  
  
-----  
  
Harry was in a foolishly good mood when he got to lunch. Before his confrontation with Draco, the Slytherin had been plaguing him, but now Draco was a part of his life that he had condoned, rather than an irritant.  
  
Ginny and Hermione picked it up instantly. Both of them smiled widely and knowingly and offered thier congratulations.  
  
"What?" asked Harry. "What have I done this time?"  
  
Ginny grinned. It was approaching Cheshire Cat proportions, unnerving Harry slightly. "You're obviously not moping about Draco anymore, which means you've come to your senses and quit telling yourself that you don't find him attractive."  
  
When she said the "D"-word, the entire table hushed and listened.  
  
Harry went scarlet. "It wasn't that big of a thing, Ginny! It's not like we're engaged or anything..."  
  
Dean winked. "It's only time, mate. Only time."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "He's on probation. Honestly, all we agreed to was to stop antagonising each other."  
  
Hermione nodded. "Sure, Harry. That's what they all say."  
  
Harry glared at her. "I certainly hope that no one else has put Draco on probation-- his inflated ego would probably pop."  
  
Over at the Slytherin table, Draco winced. He had NOT got an inflated ego; he was simply self-confident, gorgeous, and brilliant. It wasn't ego if it was true, was it?  
  
"You hope that no one else has got Draco on probation because you're possessive of him. You want him for yours." Ginny was teasing Harry, and Harry was not amused.  
  
"Cut it out, or I'm leaving."  
  
Ginny humphed into her pumpkin juice but relented. She could be heard to mumble, "Geez, you'd think he'd be used to it by now," but Harry decided not to notice. He was feeling too good about having solved his problem. Even the choker wasn't bothering him nearly as much as it had earlier that morning.  
  
-----  
  
In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry noticed a fat roll of parchment on his desk. It was sealed, but it had his name written on it. In green ink. He surreptitiously slid it into his bag.  
  
They were still doing dream work, but this class, the counterspell of the day came easily ("Oooh, very good, Mr. Potter! Ten points to Gryffindor!). Even Hermione hadn't been able to master it as quickly as he had, her first attempt having gone awry when Seamus, who was partnering Ron, had gotten a mouse up his pant leg and shrieked, distracting Hermione, whose spell hit Neville and accidentally sent him to sleep, muttering about pickled newts.  
  
The combination of curiousity and boredom loomed over Harry's head. He knew that there was a note from Draco in his bag, and it felt to him that if he waited too much longer, it would spontaneously combust before he could read it. He was rather possessive of his letters after the Dursley's almost-successful attempt to keep him from Hogwarts first year by keeping his letter from him and Dobby's try at the same a year later.  
  
After all, what could it possibly hurt? He didn't have anything to do; Professor Tofty had distractedly told him to work on homework or something while he was busy trying to fix the aftereffects of Parvati's counterspell, which had inexplicably turned Lavender's hair bright orange and caused it to grow a foot and a half. It wouldn't have been such an immediate problem if it had been just the hair on her head that had been altered, but eighteen-inch eyebrows and eyelashes created sudden temporary blindness, and there was a suspicious lump under her skirt as well. Lavender was sobbing, Parvati was babbling, and the entire class was in an uproar.  
  
Harry resolutely broke the seal and began to read under his desk.  
  
It began:  
  
"Darling Harry..." and continued in the same vein for at least twenty-five inches. It was also naughty, explicit in ways Harry had never dreamed of.  
  
Despite his very obvious blush, he might have gotten away with reading it in class if he had not, halfway through the last paragraph, murmured subconciously, "Merlin, I didn't know that was physically possible!"  
  
The uproar had subsided, Lavender had regained her sight, and everyone heard. Including Professor Tofty.  
  
In a whirl, the note was confiscated, the rumor mill churned, and Harry was given detention the following evening at seven o'clock.  
  
Dazed, Harry wandered off to an uneventful dinner.  
  
-----  
  
Harry slid into bed, exhausted. There had been a mountain of Tranfiguration homework, and he had spent hours on a single essay.  
  
When he slept, there were no dreams.  
  
-----  
  
Further Author's note: Erk, I'm sorry. It was an excessively short chapter. What's more, it's probably riddled with errors... I hate writing when I'm rushed. Hopefully this morsel will tide you over until I return; the length of the previous two chapters should help.  
  
Thank-you's!  
  
Dragenphly: I just can't imaging Dumbledore condoning two underage boys' sex life. Even if he is a pretty awesome old geezer, he's protective of Harry, he probably doesn't completely trust Draco (especially with something as precious as Harry), and he's probably also a bit uncomfortable with a homosexual relationship. Even really cool old people can freak a bit-- he'll get over it eventually, but as long as our characters are sixteen (and thus not consenting adults), Dumbledore is absolutely NOT going to give them a private room together as he does in so many fics. It just doesn't seem plausible to me, so I'm writing it as such.  
  
Kingess: Even if Lucius doesn't read Witch Weekly, he'd find out about an article that discussed his son's sex life, especially one that suggested that said sex life was tied up with Harry Potter, who was raised with Muggles (if not Muggle-born), is a Gryffindor, and is the perpetual Thorn In Voldy's Side. Lucius Malfoy, if nothing else, has connections. Oh yes, he'd find out.  
  
Rapturous Torture: I like the choker, too. You can special order them at just kidding. I really, really don't think you're going to find dragon hide anywhere in Muggle shops... sorry.   
  
Purity-in-Black: Oooh, very good! I didn't come out and say it was a collar, but you picked it up! Seven points to whichever house you're in... maybe I should start keepin score...  
  
Lady Myotismon: Dreams are fun to play with. Besides, it was an all-too-perfect opportunity to flaunt my limited knowledge of Shakespeare. As for Terry Pratchett... he's witty, British, and completely correct about most things. What more can you ask for?  
  
Potterfan8807: Continuing I am. If I hadn't gotten lovely reviews like yours, you would have just had to wait three weeks (maniacal cackle).  
  
chisox727: I wasn't going to quit... just go on hiatus. Last chapter was, if you'll excuse the expression, a bitch to get through. I certainly hope it was worth it.  
  
dobbiessweetie: I do try to be original... I was actually quite worried about ripping off fics I adore when writing this. I'm glad I'm not rehashing anything (I was worried about Unthinkable Thoughts when using the magical creature as a gimmick, mostly, but it's a very different creature-gimmick and I'm not going to give Harry and Draco superpowers for being in love, either, so I think I'm okay there). As for summaries... I just don't know what to do with three lines of space. I like to think that the strength in my writing lies in my manipulation of language and lack of glaring grammatical errors, and I don't know how to showcase that properly in under fifty words. I'll try something new, and see how that works.  
  
FredandGeorgeRmine: Of course Harry's plan backfired. Harry is many positive things, but 'slick and suave' belongs to Draco alone of the two of them. It's one of the things that makes them so adorable together.   
  
starlollie: Well, that's one nagging worry off my list. I was afraid that any sex I write is on the side of cliché... originality is a major thing I strive for, and it is very nice to hear that my effort is paying off.  
  
Anyway, thank you all so much (again), and best wishes until I return! 


	10. Detention and Ron

Not Only In Dreams By Goddess JacquesPierre  
  
Chapter Ten: Detention and Ron  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated and/or non-associated things that I don't own do not belong to me. Perhaps it was redundant, but it certainly beats my English substitute, whose comment "Partners is definitely sufficient enough" led me to lose all respect I may have had for her. Anyone who uses the phrase "sufficient enough" should be shot (not necessarily lethal except in the case of the repeat offender. As far as I am concerned, the breed of people who perpetually mix up 'lose' and 'loose' belong in the same category). Moving along, they belong to their respective owners, who are not I. My writing, sarcasm, witty remarks, not-so-witty remarks, comments, ideas, and other creative property, however, do belong to me, and anyone caught filching them without permission will be sentenced to the same fate as those select few for whom loosing their lives is not sufficient enough. (So I didn't feel like coming up with something new. Bite me.)  
  
Author's Note: Hey, look! I've finally moved my ass into gear and am writing! If you couldn't tell, the story is at a turning point, and I found I was stuck. I'm going to have to find a new pattern (my previous pattern had been one dream per chapter, but...), and my chapters may be (read: will be) sporadic in length of text and also in time between updates. I also have to figure out where the hell I'm going with this, as I'm nowhere near as focused as, say, "Unthinkable Thoughts" 's Aidan Lynch, who knew exactly what he was doing and exactly where he was going. I'm not that organised, and I apologise for that. However, I am moving again, and hopefully I'll get somewhere soon.  
  
The next morning, Harry woke up, disturbed. Even though the dreams had been going on for slightly more than a week, he felt like there was some integral part of his life missing.  
  
He shook his head to clear it. There had to be another explanation for the empty feeling in his gut; there was no way he had so much emotion for Draco Malfoy that the absence of dreams should upset him this much.  
  
The thought that he should ask Hermione about it crossed his mind briefly, but he ignored it. Instead, he made his way to breakfast.  
  
Draco woke in a similar state of panic. He resolved to ask Hermione for help-- she, if anyone, would know what had happened.  
  
He hurried out of his dorm, hoping to snag a good-morning kiss from Harry before they got into the Great Hall.  
  
Draco caught Harry about thirty feet from the huge double doors. "Morning, boyfriend," he said, smiling.  
  
Harry stared, not sure what to make of a flirty Draco.  
  
As Draco leaned in to kiss him, Filch stepped out of the shadows. When their lips met, he spoke. "Boys! That is unappropriate!"  
  
They both sprang backwards, surprised.  
  
Draco recovered first. "Inappropriate, sir!"  
  
Filch gave him a dirty look. "Whatever. Get in to breakfast, and no more hanky-panky."  
  
As he turned to enter the Great Hall, Harry fought to restrain laughter. He had had no idea that Draco could be as fun to be with as any of his own friends.  
  
Harry chose a seat next to Hermione, but before he could greet her, Draco had squeezed between them on the bench.  
  
"Good morning, Hermione," said Draco cheerfully. "How have you been?"  
  
"Well, thank-you. And yourself?"  
  
"Well, but there is something I would like to ask you. Has Harry been sleeping well?"  
  
Harry pouted. "I'm right here."  
  
Draco reached over and ran his thumb over Harry's protruding lower lip affectionately. "Yes, but I don't trust you to take care of yourself. You aren't selfish enough; likely if I asked you, you'd tell me you were fine regardless."  
  
"He's been fine as far as I can tell," said Hermione. "He doesn't look exhausted, either. Why?"  
  
"The last time I didn't dream about him, he'd been awake all night. I take it that's not what happened this time?"  
  
Hermione paused a moment. "You two came to an agreement yesterday?"  
  
"Yes, why?"  
  
"Then I'd guess your Eros's Helper decided that you didn't need its help any longer. You're on your own now."  
  
Draco frowned. "But I want the dreams back!"  
  
Ginny giggled from across the table.  
  
"You're the youngest Weasley, aren't you?" asked Draco, looking at her. "Virginia, isn't it?"  
  
She blushed, nodding. "Ginny."  
  
"Pleased to meet you."  
  
He extended his hand to her, miraculously managing not to trail his sleeve through the marmalade jar.  
  
After taking it, she grinned, turning her attention away from Draco as the latter returned to conversing lightly with Hermione. "See, Harry? A perfect gentleman! Of course you want him."  
  
Harry blushed and absorbed himself in his toast. Draco's entire side was perfectly aligned with his, and it was very distracting.  
  
Harry's detention took place late that evening in the greenhouse. Harry walked in to see Professor Sprout busily speaking with a familiar-looking blonde.  
  
"Draco?" Harry asked.  
  
The blonde turned around. "You got caught."  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" Harry exclaimed. "It's just..."  
  
"No, you dolt, I'm not blaming you, though Merlin knows why not. Someone read the signature, and I got detention, too."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Professor Sprout bustled over. "OK, boys, tonight we're working with these." She held up a large, leafy green plant that was oozing translucent goo with a pink tinge. "What you are going to do is package each leaf in a separate bag." She indicated an adjacent shelf. "All of those are mature plants. You are to get through the shelf before you can go. I have a lot of back work piled up-- Fred and George are gone now, and they used to have detention so often they did this for me on a regular basis. If you need me, I shall be in Greenhouse Ten, doing essential paperwork for the duration of your detention. Now, gloves on, the sap has some intense side effects when it comes in contact with bare skin. And no magic!"  
  
After she left, Draco began tugging on his gloves. "She's an amazing disciplinarian, isn't she?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Harry was engaged in fighting with one of his gloves, which had gotten caught on the edge of the table.  
  
"She just walks out on us... we could do anything now, and she wouldn't know."  
  
"Draco? Just do the work."  
  
"You're no fun."  
  
"Just do it."  
  
Barely fifteen minutes had passed before Harry's hand slipped and he ended up with a trail of pinkish ooze on his arm. "Ooops," he said.  
  
"Harry, you're so clumsy," Draco chided gently, trying to wipe the slime off with a section of the tablecloth. "You should be more careful.  
  
"It doesn't hurt..." said Harry, sounding surprised. "It just tingles a bit. Anticlimactic, for something with intense side effects'-- ah!"  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Harry was breathing heavily, as if he had just run a great distance. "Draco?" The latter looked up, and noticed that Harry's nipples were clearly visible through the thin cotton of the dirt-stained skin-tight t-shirt Harry had chosen to wear. Closer perusal showed expanded pupils to the point that they nearly eclipsed the irises and pink cheeks.  
  
"Cold?" asked Draco.  
  
"No. Come here."  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"NOW."  
  
Draco stood and walked around the table. "Harry?"  
  
Before he could say anything further, Harry had tackled him onto the greenhouse floor.  
  
"My goodness," said Draco, startled by the sudden change. "Are you sure you're--"  
  
He was abruptly interrupted by Harry's lips on his own. Two pairs of glove were the first things to fly into the corners of the greenhouse. They were soon followed by everything else.  
  
Afterwards, the two boys lay exhausted on the cooling earth of the greenhouse floor.  
  
"Well," said Draco, panting, "that certainly explains a lot about Fred and George."  
  
"What explains a lot about Fred and George?"  
  
"See, that gooey stuff is clearly an aphrodisiac of some sort. If Fred and George were in here often enough working with those plants... well, let's just say it throws the abnormal closeness of their relationship into a whole new light."  
  
Harry rolled over. "Ugh, I so did not need that image. Thank you, Draco, for scarring my perception of two of my friends."  
  
"You hadn't noticed?" Draco was genuinely surprised.  
  
Harry sat up, thinking. "Now that you mention it..."  
  
Draco tossed Harry his boxers. "You're endearingly naïve, Harry."  
  
"Er, thank you. Now let's get back to work before Sprout figures out what's up."  
Days passed. Harry found himself settling into a comfortable routine that involved Draco but did surprisingly not involve the first person that had made him feel comfortable in the wizarding world: his former best friend, Ron.  
  
In fact, that was the only thing marring what had turned out to be a pleasant-almost-to-the-point-of-blissful day-to-day existence. Seamus and Ron were still pointedly avoiding him. In fact, part of Harry felt that Ron was happier in his friendship with Seamus than Ron had been when he, Harry, had been his best friend. So, despite his own blooming romance, there was a ribbon tainted with unhappiness running through the lace petticoat (probably one of Aunt Petunia's old ones, Harry thought bitterly) of Harry's life.  
  
OK, I'm going to have to call it quits for this chapter, meaning it's thank-you time. However, now that my idea mill seems to be running again (as seen in the detention scene), the next chapter will hopefully be up sooner rather than later.  
  
spirit element: I didn't really think that last one ended on a sad note. This one did (sorry!), but last one was more unknown than anything.  
  
Kingess: Well, I don't know if the course had any visible effect on my writing, but I now have a four-page essay about "The Hulk" as a political commentary.  
  
The One With Hope: Ah-hah! Now is my chance to display my slightly scary, obsessive Harry Potter trivia knowledge! I was referring to the Quidditch WORLD cup, which does take place in the fourth book. Heh, perhaps I should have been more specific, but it did happen! Check again, I know I'm right! And I'm very flattered that you reviewed. You know, it really does motivate us writer-types to continue writing.  
  
Ice Princess of Slytherin: Well... I'd certainly say Draco's more of a lion than a lamb, but... whatever floats your boat. 'Fab' is a perfectly acceptable descriptor of a work of fanfiction, particularly this one (eh, who am I kidding... don't mind me...) As for your 'weirdest person in the universe' status... the jury's out on that one. Perhaps you should organise a contest...  
  
Dragenphly: Glad you like my skewed logic. I don't mind the 'room' scenario, as long as it's justified... so many possibilities! But that's just the dedicated H/D fan in me talking, not the English critic. As for sneaking around... it's not as easy as it might seem, though I'm not a boarding-schooler, so I wouldn't know.  
  
SexySlytherinChick: I'll definitely put that in the idea box, but I don't think I can come up with justification for leather and handcuffs... if you have any idea, feel free to let me know.  
  
starlollie: Hmmm... don't know how plausible muttering out loud in class is, but my boyfriend does it. Oh well. Thanks for loving it anyway!  
  
Andromeda Snape-Malfoy: But... but... but... holds up copy of OoTP defensively It said in here that in the wizarding world they don't reach majority until seventeen! You bring up a good point, though, especially as majority and age of consent are completely different magical creatures. By the way, I'm quite flattered that you've chosen to review my story-you claim to be a tough critic (I'm inclined to believe you on the basis that the sample of your writing I've read is sound and lacks Internetese, such as it is) and I value honest feedback at least as much as I value requests for Harry and Draco in leather.  
  
enc87b: yes, it is supposed to be funny in parts. You should only be worried if you think the funny bits are, say, times that Ron is off with Seamus, both of them shooting dirty looks at Harry.  
  
Silver Salamander: Well... it's not soon, but at least it happened, right?  
  
Tygrressatheart: yeah, there's been a lot of water under the bridge since I started writing that one. I've taken care of a couple ongoing problems (e.g., clinical depression, ADD, and reusing the wing metaphor over and over) and like the concept of this one better. Thanks so much. 


	11. Tension

Not Only In Dreams By Goddess JacquesPierre

Chapter Eleven: Tension

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated and/or non-associated things that I don't own do not belong to me. Perhaps it was redundant, but it certainly beats my English substitute, whose comment "Partners is definitely sufficient enough" led me to lose all respect I may have had for her. Anyone who uses the phrase "sufficient enough" should be shot (not necessarily lethal except in the case of the repeat offender. As far as I am concerned, the breed of people who perpetually mix up 'lose' and 'loose' belong in the same category). Moving along, they belong to their respective owners, who are not I. My writing, sarcasm, witty remarks, not-so-witty remarks, comments, ideas, and other creative property, however, do belong to me, and anyone caught filching them without permission will be sentenced to the same fate as those select few for whom loosing their lives is not sufficient enough. (So I didn't feel like coming up with something new. Bite me.)

Author's Note: So I finally got my arse in gear. Again. Class is back in session, and I have been deluged with assignments for months. Having reached a point where my grades no longer justify the stress level I imposed upon myself, I have decided to take a break, and so here I am.

I spent even more time trying to figure out what horrendous fic error 'abd' stood for so I could go to fix it. I came up with several possibilities: "Aargh! Bad Grammar!", "Abdicate, Blundering GM!", "Any Bored Groupie..." (possibly meaning 'not particularly good, as any fan could write it'), and "Attack Bastard Goddess". After painstakingly guessing myself hoarse, I realised it was a typo, and that instead of these telling acronymic reproofs, the chapter was merely 'bad', with no other distinguishing qualities. A generic sort of bad, then? I went through and checked the grammar. The most heinous faults that I could find were this: that I had allowed a chapter to pass relatively angst-free (oh no! The fluff!) and also that I had sacrificed some character to my perception of the Humor Gods. I hold that my writing is infinitely better than the generic drivel one may obtain of many other authors, and if it isn't perfect, I am only human. I actually rather liked the chapter, so any shall remain in the 'pending' folder until I feel like making sweeping global changes to the fic (and by that, I mean that I will polish it with a worn-out sock until it gleams like Draco's hair plus his wonted amount of gel, as per Movies One and Two). However, I will promise that the 'pet chapter' urge will probably not come around on the guitar for another several chapters.

However, the chapters will be short until I catch the groove of writing this again.

The first snow of the year was falling as Harry stepped out of the castly. Hagrid had owled him to ask him over for tea on the first day of Christmas break. In the letter, Hagrid had written something about how Harry had been "so caught up in that bloke that yeh've forgotten yer ol' frien's".

He had left Draco asleep. Sick of the constant stigma attatched to his presence in his dorm, Harry had moved into Draco's dorm, which every Slytherin except for Draco and a first-year who hadn't yet gotten on Snape's good side had shunned in favor of family and home.

It made Harry wonder whether the Slytherins actually liked living with evil Death Eater parents.

Lost in thought, Harry failed to notice the tall, gangly redhead until he had wandered smack into him.

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed, startled.

Ron looked up. "Ha- Potter."

"Er," said Harry, not quite sure what to make of that.

Ron reached out, touched the choker that had graced Harry's throat for a month and a half. "You haven't cast off the scum."

Harry stared.

"You know he is scum. You know what he's said."

Harry remained silent.

"Or do you not want to own up to it? Does it not matter if he's the refuse of the earth if you're getting expensive gifts and fucked on a regular basis?"

That jarred Harry's tongue from its stunned state. "It's not like that!"

"Then why wasn't I a good enough friend for you?" For a moment Harry thought that Ron's tone was hurt, but... "No, you want to get flowers from your Slytherin fuck-buddy! Is that what you wanted from me? Chocolate and sex?" Ron, 6'7 at his full height, towered more than a foot over Harry.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Ron crushed his lips over Harry's. Ron's tongue alternated a vicious assault on Harry's mouth with his teeth, biting and plundering and bruising.

Harry recovered from the shock and punched Ron in the gut. Ron curled over, flabbergasted, and then retaliated with an angry shout.

In short order, two boys wandering peacefully among serene snowflakes had turned into a full-bore two-person brawl, complete with bar stools (Harry had pulled his wand to conjure some sort of weapon, and it had refused to work for anything else).

It didn't stop until Hagrid poked his head out of his hut to see what the commotion was. "What do you two think yer doin'?" he bellowed.

Harry dropped his barstool on Ron's head sheepishly and looked up through what looked like it would become a promising black eye. "Sorry, Hagrid."

Ron pushed the barstool away with the broken leg he was using, and then hurled the leg into the forest, watching its trajectory moodily.

"I asked yeh here for tea, not for beatin' the livin' daylights out of each other! Now, you two come in here, and I'll get yeh patched up."

Both boys followed Hagrid into his hut. Ron's nose was bleeeding, and Harry was favoring his left leg as he walked.

"Now, I want to hear what's gotten into both of yeh, one at a time, and slowly. Harry, you'll go first, on account of I'm not making yer friend talk through a bloody nose." Hagrid occupied himself with a large kettle and a tray of his omnipresent rock cakes.

Harry took a deep breath. "I started having these dreams about Draco Malfoy after Halloween, and Ron decided that I'd pledged my life to him."

"Yeah, well, you're the one who's attracted to our worst enemy! The only one who's worse than Malfoy is You-Know-Who!"

"I didn't choose him, Ron! It just sort of happened!"

"Things "just sort of happen" to you a lot, don't they?"

"Yes, Ron, they do! I'm Harry Potter! It makes me a convenient target for people to throw things at!"

"It also makes them love you! It's always about The Great Harry Potter, isn't it?"

"So you think I wanted my parents to die so I could have people ogle me?"

"No." Ron said after a brief silence. "But-- Malfoy is... unimaginable. Why'd you do it?"

"I hadn't even called a truce with him when you started avoiding me! No one was going to help me repel his advances, so I got to find out the hard way that he's not that bad!"

Ron was quiet. "Yeah... I guess you're right."

Harry nodded.

"So, will you stop seeing Malfoy if I start talking with you again?"

Harry considered this. "No," he said. "I wouldn't."

"He's still Malfoy!"

"No, he really isn't," Harry said thoughtfully. "I mean, he's not a Gryffindor, but he's not the evil bastard that you're making him out to be."

"I'll think about it." Ron stood up, leaving his full mug of tea on the table. "See you, Harry."

Harry stayed and made small talk with Hagrid before excusing himself. It was almost lunchtime, and he wanted to wake Draco up for it.

-----

When Harry got back to the dorm, it was a mess. The blankets were strewn on the floor, the rubbish bin was half-full of used Kleenex, and Draco was sitting in the middle of it all, looking rumpled. Even his prized hair, which usually ranged from impeccable to artfully tousled, was completely dishevelled, and it looked like he had been crying.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, unsure of how to deal with a Draco that wasn't full of smirk.

"Malfoys don't cry," Draco told him, biting the words off so that the consanants snapped back off the stone dungeon wall into Harry's face as if he were being flicked with so many quills.

"Er," said Harry. "I'm... sorry?"

"You should be sorry!" hissed Draco. "It's all your fault!"

"What?"

"I saw you and Weasley kissing this morning! I thought that I'd managed to foster some semblance of taste in you, Potter! It doesn't matter that maybe I'm beginning to love you, oh no, you're completely content using me. It must be because I'm only a Slytherin, and you, the Great Harry Potter, are entitled to have a pet Slytherin in addition to a real lover because of your gracious Gryffindorism! Well, it doesn't work like that, Harry. Nobody uses a Malfoy."

"Draco, it's not like th--"

Draco, uninterested in hearing Harry out, pounced the latter roughly.

When Harry protested, Draco grinned feverishly. "Isn't this what you want, what you get from your precious Ronniekins?" He stopped to leave a trail of bruised marks where he'd sucked too hard on Harry's next. "Well, if this is what you want, you're going to get it from ME. You're MINE, Harry Potter, and you're not going to get away from me whether you like it or not!" Harry stared, entranced and almost turned on by this display of jealousy and possessiveness. Even as Draco spat furious jabs at him, tears glistened in the blonde's eyes. "No Weasley is EVER going to take what is MINE from me!"

In spite of himself, Harry started responding to it. As Draco moved to rip off his t-shirt, his fingernails scraped against Harry and Harry moaned at the contact. He crumpled under the furious-- there was no other word-- assault on his body as the Draco fumbled at the rest of his clothing.

At this point, for the sake of the Laws of , I'm going to bring the lights down so as not to scar the small children who shouldn't be reading this in the first place.

The sounds of rustling and moaning permeated the air.

After a bit, Draco spoke. "I want to hear you beg."

Harry whimpered. "Please?"

"More. Say my name."

Harry's breathing caught and resumed, labored. The words tumbled off his lips, breathless. "Oh my god, Draco, please, give it to me; I love you, please, I'll do anything for you..."

The rustling abruptly stops. "What did you say?" asked Draco in a strangled voice.

"I'll do anything!"

"No, before that."

"I... love you?"

Draco makes a satisfied noise, and growls. The rustling starts again, and over it, one can hear him growl the possessive pronoun: "Mine."

The noises crescendo, and after a couple minutes, Harry screams Draco's name.

Having dispensed with the evil bit with s-x in it, we shall wait a moment for Harry and Draco to pull themselves together and then bring the lights back up.

They have tangled themselves together in Draco's silk sheets on the floor.

"God, that was unbelievable."

"See, I am a god. You don't need Weasley for anything." Draco has gotten his smirk back.

"He's just confused. I'm exhausted."

"We'll miss lunch." Draco yawns.

"We'll make dinner." Harry tugs on the sheet and maneuvers them onto the bed to sleep.

-----

Harry and Draco emerged from the Slytherin dorms exactly four minutes and thirty-seven seconds after the latest they could have made it to the Great Hall on time. Draco had regained his gloss coating and had managed to both scrounge unwrinkled clothing and make his hair shimmer with its customary sheen. Harry, on the other hand, had an impressive black eye that had bloomed into its full glory while he was asleep. He was covered in love bites, his robes diisplayed every indicator that he had slept in it except the large neon sign on them announcing the fact, and his hair had grown an interesting trident-shaped protrustion at the crown of his head. 

They walked down the corridor in silence, throwing the uncharacteristic quiet of the Great Hall into an uncanny juxtaposition.

"I can't say I miss having the people around," Draco muttered under his breath as he crossed the floor to the table the few students and professors who had elected to stay huddled around.

"Severus, I cannot abide this sort of activity going on in my school!" Dumbledore was saying. "You love any excuse to get Potter in trouble, so why are you allowing him to stay in Slytherin? Surely you understand that the boys are too young and too busy to have romantic entanglements."

Snape gave Dumbledore an inscrutable look as Harry and Draco slid into thier seats. "It has been many years since either of us were young and in love, Headmaster. We can't baby the students forever."

Dumbledore's radioactive blue eyes swept the table and noted the new additions. A flick of his wand sent a pair of plates flying onto the table in front of Harry and Draco, and it was clear that the gesture marked the end of the converstaion.

Both boys ate quickly and left hastily.

"Well, Dumbledore is certainly nice!" Draco seethed.

"What was up with Snape? Was he defending us?" asked Harry.

"Indeed I was, Mr. Potter." Snape had swept into the corridor after them, startling them. "I once was young, you know."

"You were?" asked Harry.

Draco smacked Harry upside the head. "Of course he was, you nitwit!"

Snape cleared his throat. "Anyway, you two. I'm not doing this completely out of the goodness of my heart. You're going to need to do a couple things for me."

"Oh?" inquired Harry politely. "What?"

"Well, I had planned on using the vacation to make a rather complex potion, and I wanted you two to help me. An extra hand or two is always invaluable to this one. Also... I was once young. Don't let it get around that that makes me soft"  
-  
Oooh, what's going on with Snape? Now I'm interested!

I'm sorry if I've muffed the dialects. I hate doing it-- you'll notice Seamus never gets an accent-- but when Hagrid talks, it's just wrong not to make the attempt. So, I've given it a shot, and if anyone has any tips, I'd be more than happy to go back and fix it. Also, I thought about doing Ron With Bloody Nose, but I have no idea how to do it properly.

Thank-yous!

starlollie: yes, the chapter was cute! That was my intention.

SexySlytherinChick: I fix specific errors better than general ones, and examples help. See above. Sorry if I got a bit too defensive.

Tygrressatheart: Try Brazil for the plant. They're supposed to have loads of undiscovered lifeforms, there's got to be one similar to the one I described. Thank you and everyone else for pointing out my Naming-Ginny error-- I read enough fanfiction that I think I know things are canon that aren't, and it was someone else's mistake that I copied. However, I didn't actually say that her name was Virginia (just implied the hell out of it), and I think I can do the immoral Author Squeeze out of this one on a technicality. It was a mistake, and now I know. (Imagine it being said like it is on Bill Nye the Science Guy.)

Purity-in-Black: Yes, someone did mention it. It is a lovely name that never occured to me, because it never occured to me that maybe JK names characters funny things. Goddess, I feel stupid sometimes.

Sierra Potter-Malfoy: bows humbly I suppose this doesn't count as 'soon', but, if you'll excuse the trite expression, better late than never. I will finish this, darn it!

Klover P: Gred and Forge are too close to pair up with anyone else. Murr. 


	12. The Potion

Not Only In Dreams  
By Goddess JacquesPierre

Chapter Twelve: The Potion

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated and/or non-associated things that I don't own do not belong to me. Perhaps it was redundant, but it certainly beats my English substitute, whose comment "Partners is definitely sufficient enough" led me to lose all respect I may have had for her. Anyone who uses the phrase "sufficient enough" should be shot (not necessarily lethal except in the case of the repeat offender. As far as I am concerned, the breed of people who perpetually mix up 'lose' and 'loose' belong in the same category). Moving along, they belong to their respective owners, who are not I. My writing, sarcasm, witty remarks, not-so-witty remarks, comments, ideas, and other creative property, however, do belong to me, and anyone caught filching them without permission will be sentenced to the same fate as those select few for whom loosing their lives is not sufficient enough. (So I didn't feel like coming up with something new. Bite me.)

* * *

At seven o'clock the following morning, Harry woke up abruptly because Snape had just poked him roughly with a large, knobby plant that Harry had never seen before in his life. "Up; I need to finish this potion before the next full moon."

"Whenzat?" asked Harry, still groggy.

"It's a week from tomorrow, but this potion also requires four full days to brew, and that doesn't count preparation time."

Harry poked Draco, who had been awake before he had fallen asleep during Harry's question.

Draco rolled over, murmuring something suggestive that Snape decided he hadn't heard. Snape poked Draco with the knobby plant more roughly than Harry had done.

"Mmmm.... no, not now, 'Arry," slurred Draco, clearly half-asleep. " 'M too tired."

Snape cleared his throat loudly and pointedly. "If you do not wake up, Mr. Malfoy, there will BE no more Harry."

Draco sat bolt upright in bed. "My Harry. You can't have him." He stood up, naked and ignoring the goosebumps that Slytherin's perpetually unpleasantly cold temperature provided free of charge (and with the relevant bits fuzzed out for the Censors of Doom, much to Harry's disappointment). Snape pointedly turned around as Draco nonchalantly walked straight into a floor lamp, which fell to the floor with a resounding clang.

"All right, since neither of you seem coherent yet, I'll give you a reprieve. You will both be in the third dungeon of the right past your Potions room, ready to assist me, within the hour; if either of you are late, both of you will suffer consequences that neither of you will enjoy. Do not expect this type of leniency again; I expect punctuality -- that is, you shall both be present and ready to work at no later seven-thirty-- for the rest of the holidays." Snape turned on his heel and walked out in a flourish of black cloak and greasy hair.

Draco blearily waved his wand, conjuring a magical coffee pot to perk away cheerful on the bedside table. "Come on, 'Arry," he said, grabbing the Gryffindor's wrist and pulling him determinedly towards the door. "We're going to take a shower."

Half an hour and two orgasms later, Draco and Harry were sitting in bed, dressed and eating a hurried breakfast. Draco was chugging coffee in a manner that amused Harry, who was making pointed comments about the addictive qualities of caffeine to annoy the blonde, who was in turn taking the comments with uncharacteristic poor grace.

Draining his mug, Draco stood up abruptly. "Null point, Harry, we'd better get in to see Snape before he takes off our heads."

"I thought he liked you," Harry protested.

"No, that's mostly an act. I don't think he's getting enough sex, myself; no properly satiated person should be that grouchy."

"You were that grouchy before you had me." Harry stood up and followed his companion out of the dorm room and down the corridor.

"Exactly, Harry; I wasn't getting enough sex."

"I thought you were the resident Sex God of Slytherin."

"I was. You, however, possess the finest piece of tail that I have ever had the pleasure of sleeping with."

"Awww, Draco, do I really?"

"No," said Draco sarcastically. "I was lying to see how big the already-inflated PotterHead Ego could get before it bursts."

"That's so sweet of you, darling! Let's go off, get married, and have children!"

"Not on your life, Potter." Draco sighed, leaned over, and kissed Harry on the cheek. "Now, we have a potion to brew." He opened a door and held it for Harry. "Ladies first?"

Harry wrested the knob from Draco's grasp. "Oh, of course, Dracette. After you, sugar."

Before Draco could threaten Harry's life and/or manhood, Snape spoke. "Good, you're finally here. Let's get to work. Here's what you're going to do..."

* * *

It was midafternoon before Draco dropped his knife. "Who's the werewolf, Professor?" he asked.

"What werewolf?" Snape was feverishly stirring a cauldron. "Keep cutting that wolfsbane, Malfoy, if you're going to engage in idle chitchat and speculation."

"Sir, this is wolfsbane. You've got Harry preparing the moonflower, and I'm sure that's chamomile and powdered unicorn horn I see over there on the ingredients table. Furthermore, we've been going through the first seven steps of preparing the Wolfsbane potion. I'm not stupid, sir, with all due respect."

Snape chose not to say anything until a few minutes later when a familiar voice drifted in from an adjacent chamber. "Sev, darling, where's my shampoo? All I can find is yours."

"Professor Lupin? What's he doing here?" asked Harry, halfway between anticipation and befuddlement.

"That, Mr. Potter, is none of your business." Snape raised his voice. "It's on the third shelf in the cabinet directly to the left of the sink, right where I told you the house-elves put it."

There was the sound of rummaging, then Lupin walked into the room, wearing only a towel. Harry decided it was a prudent moment to involve himself deeply in his current task.

"You know, Lupin, I did request that you leave me to my potion today," Snape said curtly. "Alone."

Draco, pretending to be enthralled with his wolfsbane, stifled giggles.

Lupin draped his arms around Snape. "You always get grouchy when you work on your potions for hours, Severus, and I'd rather not live with you when you're that irritable. I'd bet that you haven't even taken a lunch break."

"We have company," Snape said through gritted teeth. "**Student** company."

Lupin looked around, noticed Harry and Draco, and nodded to the former before redirecting his attention to Snape. "The fact remains, Severus, that while there are many interesting things such as this pickled newt--" (Lupin proffered the jar gingerly to Snape) "--in the cabinet, my shampoo is not one of them. As I'm not here in an official capacity--" (Harry gasped) "--it would be most helpful if you would remedy the situation."

"You could use mine," Snape said irritably. "That would be the practical thing to do."

"Severus, we both know that the purpose of that shampoo is to make you as unattractive as is magically possible. You could be gorgeous if you tried."

"I do NOT want 'gorgeous' to become one of my descriptors, Lupin, as well you know. Now, if you would please unhand me while I finish this potion? I am sure that you of all people can understand its importance."

Lupin sighed. "Take care of yourself." He walked out of the room.

"What are you two staring at?" asked Snape testily. "You're done for the day. Out." Both boys stared at him dumbly. "Are you deaf? Get out!" They beat a mad dash for the door.

* * *

Author's Note: Yayy! I'm writing again! And this time, the time elapsed between chapters is more along the lines of three weeks, and less along the lines of three months!

However, I'm having some trouble figuring out where I'm going after this chapter-- one reason it's so short; I'm still deciding where exactly I'm going after this. I'm not sure if Harry and Draco would talk about what they've found out or appear to have found out, and if they do, I need to decided what they think (which I'll do anyway, of course, and I already have a couple ideas) and how one of them is going to initiate the conversation. If they don't actually talk it out, which is the option I'm leaning towards, I need to figure out how it's going to affect the storyline (er, what storyline there is) and how, if at all, I'll include character opinion in the story. In other words, I, the classic 'indecisive writer', have reached a "point at which I must make decisions," and don't know how I shall proceed. Of course, I value input, especially helpful input like "if you turn it into a foursome, I will shoot you." You have been warned.

* * *

Thank You Section:

White Dragon Priestezz: Well, now you know some of Snape's motivations. My friend just sat me down and argued with me about Snape as a plausible character, and perhaps I shall flesh him out later on. I shall probably pull a JK, though, and have a nice back story for the character all worked out and not share it with anyone. Oh dear, you've given me another acronym. "Write, damn person!"? "Wash Draco Potter"? "Why did Percy..."? "Waffle, Duck, Pencil"? "With Dire Parsnips"? "Wait during postponement"? I don't think I've got it, but it hasn't go a vowel in it, so it's not a real word. sigh I shall have to post this chapter promptly so I can recieve my answer!

mandraco: arches eyebrow at penname As opposed to female Draco? Oh dear. As for the word 'premise', thou hast hit it (come sit on me! Er, no, that's from  Much Ado About Nothing . Sorry). It's spelled correctly. However, if you stare at most words long enough, they start looking funny. I've found that "yellow", "purple", and "banana" go particularly ridiculous under close scrutiny.

Mintie: Thank-you. I spend a great deal of time avoiding clichés. In a fandom with so much fiction (and so much of it bad), it's hard to avoid them. You may judge the 'plausible' for yourself. I find myself skewing the characters to my speech patterns, but luckily, my speech patterns are so eclectic that it almost blends.

Silver Salamander: Yes. Plants are crazy. Let's pass a constitutional amendment banning them. You have also uncovered my slimy FicAuthorSquirm, you immoral person you. Bah, now I have to decide whether to hope that no-one notices that you've uncovered it and cover my slip as planned or come up with a new one, which is unlikely to be even remotely plausible. I trust that this chapter is more timely, and thus more to your satisfaction?

Darkness-Angel-2004: Since you asked so nicely, I'll just have to say no! Sorry, clearly I'm lying; it's just something my father always used to say to me around Christmas-time. Here 'tis; I suppose I'm a sucker regarding reviewers who beg. 


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